Promised to Me
by Daughter Of The Revolution
Summary: For his loyalty General Winter had promised Russia a mate; one who could stand beside him, not lay broken under him. But the old ghost was always so cruel.While keeping his promise he had never promised that said mate wouldn't fight back with a strength equal to Russia's.If it is meant to be then why does the promised one resist? Historical. RusAme(possibly onesided). GerMerica.
1. The Promise

**Daughter Of The Revolution: Heys, soooo, as I've stated before I'm attracted to the odd/smaller pairings. This has been swelling in my cesspool of a mind for a couple months and I had to write it. Don't know how often I'd update it but I have already written a couple chapters, sooo, the more reviews (if anyone likes it :/) the more updates ;D**

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Moscow, Russia. May 3rd 1607

The window shattered and in poured the raging blizzard once confined to the outside only, but Russia didn't care; in fact he welcomed the cold bitterness. With eyes ablaze with violent violet he grit his teeth and shouted to the howling wind made bitterly cold by the night's dark shield over the sun. It was officially Spring but still this blizzard raged on and on until Russia found himself tormented by something he had once claimed to be used to.

Weary, so weary now. Russia wanted to see the sun. He wanted to see the flowers; the Sunflowers. He wanted to see his people outside in their light dress. He wanted to see the little ones dancing in the streets, their parents drying their soaking sheets; the young lovers displaying public affection in the valley of dandelions and clovers.

"Why do you torment me for so long, General?" Russia nearly cried out into the dark night whishing by him and his home. "Your season is over and yet you linger over my land and destroy the souls of my people!"

The wind seemed to pitch in its howl but Russia did not cringe. He was no longer afraid of the deity that haunted his land and mind. He had grown accustomed to the ghostly being but that did not mean he grew welcome. Distain and hate was all he's ever felt for the General. He had been a great ally when needed but a great enemy when he had oft been too weak to shield himself against the icy bitterness.

So he revered him and remembered him in prayer and gave to him whatever he asked for; whether it be 100 human lives to thousands of human lives, Russia complied if only to keep the General in good standings with him and his country. All he asked for was protection against his vast enemies and he would sacrifice whatever chilled bone he wanted.

But now, all the Winter season shifted into that of Spring and Russia had felt betrayed. He had not dishonored him in any way. That year had gone by like any other year so why was he stabbing him so hard in the back?

The General's wrath was easy to invoke but Russia had ceased caring as the month of May came into view with white surrounding its expectant greenery. When he usually steered clear of the glass windows opening the world of the General before him now was met with a half full vodka bottle and there was plenty more where those came from.

"Have I not been your loyal subject?" Russia shouted out his question to the howling abyss outside that slowly began seeping into his home and freezing it blue. "Have I not exalted you high enough? Surely I am the only one who remembers you. So why, why do you feel the need to be rid of me?"

More times than oft the General never spoke, or perhaps he never had and, like the good doctors kept telling Russia, that it was all in his head. Even so he stared down the wintery hell from the broken shards of glass and without glove or coat welcomed the cold as if daring the General to come to be rid of the only one still remembering of his name. Those icy hands seemed to wrap around Russia's throat but never crushing. In odd surprise he felt the soft caresses of a usually harsh might on his skin and soon he was looking into the eyes of the man, the being whom he had assumed created him.

'Then what should you have of me for such quality faithfulness?' He had asked him. General Winter never asked anything of anyone. Russia _assumed_ he wanted remembrance, Russia _assumed_ he wanted reverence, Russia _assumed_ he wanted the sacrifices.

Skeptical, Russia narrowed his eyes. General Winter never gave. He always took. What could this deity give though? The nation's curiosity was peaked.

"What can you give me besides bitterness and coldness and ice and snow and darkness?" Russia asked and as the General smiled the ice bit into him and it took everything he's learned to handle the pain to stop himself from crying. If there was anything the General hated more so than over lookers, it was weakness.

'I can free you of my presence for a season. You would like that, da? The sun, the green, the blossoms? I know you secretly worship them more and in so know that they shall not protect you as I do. Hm, shall I go?'

"You would only return more terrible than before. I know your games, General Winter. You mock me in saying I'd accept such folly trickery," Russia spoke. The years of his acquaintance had sharpened his mind to the General's tricks and Russia would not be fooled twice.

Again the smile bit into him, but if this was a test then Russia would prevail. He had proved to the General time and time again he was worthy and so he would pass whatever inspection he was being put through now.

With a silent hush the General pressed close and Russia felt the ice form around his skin. His eyes followed the jagged pattern as it grew up his arm and onto his shoulder where the General touched and pressed his blue lips against his red ear.

"Love," he whispered.

Russia gasped and cried out in pain as his heart leapt forward inside his chest. For so long he had thought his chest barren of any such human and pathetic organ but now it was pounding against his chest as if it wanted to break free and run from him. He fell to his knees and clutched at his chest.

"W-What have you done? !" Russia gasped, his eyes wide and mouth agape as he felt his heart continuously throw itself up against his ribcage.

"That is it," the General whispered as he floated around the nation whose limbs began to freeze and whose very heart violently banged against his chest for freedom from the icy grave threatening it. "Love. Your soul, your mind, your heart longs for it. I should think you don't even know what it is."

Russia hadn't really comprehended what the General was saying at the moment as a pain worse than black ice engulfed him.

"Feel it, _Rossiya_? You think yourself so mighty and tolerant to my affliction. No, you shall never stop feeling them, not as long as I exist in this world."

As the General pulled himself away the cold settled back into Russia's chest and calmed his heart in a frozen vice. He was able to catch his breath. His wide eyes were able to glance up at the ghost of the land above him. His eyes were colder than his touch and his frown more painful than even his heart trying to burst from his chest.

"You desire something of me and yet remain quiet in my presence," the man said as he gazed down at the country devoted to his worship. "It is I that know what bleeds bright in your heart. So it is I who shall decide your reward for you. I shall create for you a mate. One to tie your soul to, and one for your heart to flee to when your chest becomes too cold a carrier. You shall know the bond of nations and the power of alliance. They will be strong, and fair, and all yours."

A vision of one such as that appeared before Russia's eyes. They were beautiful, so very beautiful. But he had never cared for such companionship before. Why now? Perhaps the General was right. Perhaps Russia had longed for this all along and hadn't realized it.

After struggling for centuries and even a millennia to strengthen himself and be recognized among his peers as a force to be reckoned with, Russia had thought he was content with such a status and now the General before him had pointed out a missing piece that he had not seen until now. So, as the General turned to leave out of the shattered window he entered, Russia reached out as if to touch him only to be met with the bite of frost upon his fingertips.

"Wait!" Russia inhaled a cold blast of wind and coughed as his lungs nearly collapsed upon themselves. "When, when will I see them? Show me their being, please."

"You shall know no vision of appearance nor shall I tell you of a time destined. But know this that I shall open your eyes to the one I have created for you," the General said.

And just like that the deity was gone. Russia shook the bite of the frost from him and stood to his feet again. What he had been told was something that he'd never forget. But as his body began to warm itself slowly he felt his heart. It was beating and it was now so angry at him. It had been offered the warmth of a love it had longed for before its barer even realized it was there.

Russia was usually a patient country, but now as this foretold promise weighed on him he became excited, he became hot, he became hopeful dare he saw and never once in the back of his mind had he thought about the General's usual scheming ways.

The General wouldn't betray him, he had thought. Not after all he had offered and sacrificed to him.

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Virginia, New World. May 4th 1607

There had been a frost early in the morning and the huntsman cursed it as he trudged back into town clinging to his wet cloak that would provide no warmth. It had been a horrible night for hunting anything. It had rained throughout the night and in the dusk hours the rain turned to ice and chattered every slumbering man's teeth until the chatter awoke them fully.

Oddly enough he was not greeted by the usual gatekeeper or fellow townsman whom he knew would be up from the chill. Instead he heard what he thought were whispers until a gasp echoed across the wooden homes; that gasp sounding like the captain. Breaking out into a jog he let the sudden curiosity spur his legs to run faster to warm the rest of his body. When he stopped his eyes widened.

"Look!" There was the rest of the town. All of the people crowded in a circle near the center. It looked as if they were looking at a dead horse. But they didn't have . . .

Pushing his way inside the circle he looked down at what everyone else was looking at.

It was a babe.

Golden hair, fair skin, an infant baptismal robe draped about him. Yes, it was a boy. But what was he doing there?

In awe amazement the people watched as the frost that once covered the entire land that morning of a cold start of May started to melt from the child's body, as if his skin burned at the touch. Then everyone held their breath as those little rosy lips parted and the babe inhaled its first breath.

"He breathed!" the captain said with a grateful smile and just as the cheers of relief resounded it all went silent once more as the captain picked the boy up and held him close. "Feel him, he's warm," he motioned the others to lay their hands upon the still child.

"Tis a miracle."

"By the grace of God."

"So little."

Once again everyone held their breath as the boy shifted in the captain's arms and leaned even closer than comfortable as he babe opened his eyes for the first time to reveal the most beautiful of blue eyes anyone had ever seen. Just seeing him like this the people smiled. His life was a symbol of their success and now it was up to them to keep his health.

Since coming to that godforsaken land the people felt a genuine need to smile. The captain turned toward the ocean and with bright eyes and a triumphant smile. "When the ships return we must send word back to the King and _him_. He will be pleased there had been a child. Even more so that it's a son."

"Perhaps it'd be best to let the child go so as to see how he fairs in the upcoming years," the huntsman suggested. "Say he should die?"

"Then we shall perish," the captain said grimly as he looked down at the child in his arms, but as the child clung to him he could feel his strength and he knew right then that this child would survive. "He is strong, I can feel it. I will send word anyway. This babe needs their parent's approval and protection. Under his wing he will thrive."

They smiled as the little one cuddled close in the bosom of the captain. He was beautiful and they were all very anxious to show his parent that this colonization had worked and a child had come forth, albeit expectantly and in a mysterious way, but he was there and alive and he was going to survive.

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**Daughter Of The Revolution: Don't know if you guys can tell, but I've added subtle hints of historical events and such in these chapters. You may be able to spot them if you're a History buff (not sayin' I am or anything, but I try). Also, if there's anything I've missed, whether historically or grammatically then . . . oh wells. I'm usually too lazy to go back and change it . . . especially after I've already written lotsa chapters :/So yeah, reviews appreciated and hope you guys will enjoy this RUSAME fic.**


	2. With Eyes Opened

St. Petersburg, Russia. November 1779

He was back again and this time Catherine the Great found it difficult to hide her laughter as did Russia who stood next to his marvelous Empress. The look on that country's face was enough for Russia to call in the royal painter just to have him sketch and preserve that sad pitiful look.

There England stood before the Empress, his fingers tightened around the brim of his tricorn hat. His bottom lip was currently being chewed on and would no doubt swell red if he didn't stop. But more importantly he wasn't looking at them with those cocky green eyes. No, this time he was looking down at the ground as if paying close attention to the golden buckles neatly polished on his black shoes.

The little laugh from the Empress was caught by England's sharp ears and his once bright eyes full of conquest glanced up slowly before looking toward Russia whose smile was near identical with his Empress's.

"Do not look at me as if it is my fault for your fall-out with your colony, British Empire," Catherine said with a wave of her hand but an amused smile still on her lips.

"All I ask is assistance and you offer me nothing!" England bit out, but caught his rise in tone before it cost him another ally.

Catherine glanced over at her nation before tsking at England. "It's just a simple rebellion of a measly colony. It's not like it's a war between powerful nations like the Seven Years War," she said with a shake of her head. In her own way she was mocking the nation for his lack of control over his colony and she knew the country knew it and that is why she laughed as well as her own nation.

"You took pride in your little colony. The others had perished and failed in attempt but the British Empire had succeeded in siring a child. Such a proud parent who wouldn't even show him to us," Russia said as he offered a small clap of mock condolence. "You look more like a groveling beggar to me now."

"Tell us, England, what could you have done to make him hate you so much?" Catherine asked out a curiosity though she could care less if she got an answer if only to see England's pitiful face. England was silent though. He was wrinkling the sides of his tricorn hat quite nicely and Catherine and Russia both wondered if he realized this.

"I am willing to offer you a chance to see him," England said, his eyes turning up toward the Empress and Russia. He licked his dry lips and paused as if searching for the right words to say. "The Russian Empire is strong and I know that even if you offered me a few troops then we can put an end to his childishness. If you would like we could open trade between you and him. I'll supervise everything of course, but he has a lot to offer—if I can get his temper problems under control."

Russia glanced toward his Empress and offered a knowing smile. Like the Navigation Acts kept any foreign nation away from that young boy. Did England even know what had transpired behind his back? Well, of course not. He was hardly with that child of his and so it was no surprise to any leader or nation that the child lashed out at him and demanded freedom. He had practically raised himself, England only being there to oversee trade and commerce. As if he cared for the child when he cried himself to sleep, or if he didn't know how to hold a pistol steady, or if he didn't know how to harvest properly. He was parent in name only, nothing more than a foreign shadow to the child.

"Any nation would choose you as their first ally," England once again said, trying to woo the Empress who played a good listener. "I am willing to commit my interests to your hand, Empress. All I ask is for a few troops and that you assist me of riding those trying to sway him away from reason."

Russia frowned and looked at his Empress. She smiled under her fan and he knew she had no such thought of listening to him any further. She had never liked him or his monarchy and she most certainly wasn't going to start now.

So, she dismissed the country and decided to make him wait. After a few months she simply declined his offer and she and Russia shared a good laugh. It was very fun to watch from the sidelines as the grand "British Empire" was becoming frustrated and clearly embarrassed by their colony. Some countries loved it so much they decided to stand next to the boy and all out poke fun at England in declarations of war.

Empress Catherine was not a warmonger and so she slowly weighed her decisions before the option of neutrality arose. It was fun entertainment when you watched it from afar. Russia on the other hand eventually grew bored. Yes poking fun at the pathetic nation was amusing and all but when nothing but gossip and back-talk was all there was for Russia he simply excused himself and waited everything out in the confines of his room.

As the years passed he began feeling himself harden. Yes he still spoke well with his people, but being kept at the royal court was hardening his heart against the lowly peasant and townsfolk of his land and soon his nose was beginning to turn upward. He was becoming someone he didn't want to become, someone more akin to England and France and Spain. He hated that idea and so more often than not he'd excuse himself to his quarters where he'd do away with that stiff formal wear and sit silently in the dark, watching the snow fall outside.

He used to hate the Winter months, but now he wished for them to stay so that the General could see his glare in the blizzards at night and the light snowfall in the mornings. He wanted the ghost to see him, to know that he was tired of waiting and that he was becoming angry with him. Inwardly he threatened to forget the deity but it never came to pass. He told himself his patience was gone, but year after year he found himself still waiting.

He chuckled to himself that night as he gazed out at the snowfall. It wasn't a blizzard this time like it had been the two nights previous but it didn't matter. Russia had figured it out.

Standing up Russia came closer toward the window where Jack Frost had left his mark. Tracing letters in the frost covered glass Russia had written a message to the General. The word being, "Betrayer". For all that Russia had offered him the man had spit in his face and it was time Russia had learned his lesson.

This time he would forget that senile deity. This time he would save his people from his wintery bite. This time he would close his eyes to him. This time he would close his ears to him. This time his heart would not escape.

Turning around he made to leave his room and head down into the kitchen to fetch another bottle of vodka. On his way there he passed by the main foyer for just a second, but in that second he had caught an odd sight. Tracing back his footsteps he turned his amethyst eyes to see the servants of the night greeting three guests.

_Guests this late at night?_ Russia wondered as he stood there and watched the servants dust the chilled newcomers off of the white powder gathered atop their hats and coats. One was a tall man while the other two looked to be mere boys. One with darker hair while the other . . .

Russia had briefly remembered the feel of a chill sweeping over his eyes as if a drowsiness had been erased and his half-lidded eyes widened to a realization, a revelation.

Golden hair.

Fair skin.

Sapphire eyes.

A young boy. A young nation. He was beautiful.

The lad had offered a pleasant smile of thanks to the servants for letting them in that late of night and helping them with their baggage. His teeth were milky white and his lips a colorful rosy peach in color. There was a youthful spark in his eyes that made it seem as if diamonds were trapped in the midst of the blue gems.

Without knowing it Russia's hand reached up to clench to fabric of his tunic. His heart was pounding against his chest and he knew why; it wanted to escape from his lifeless form and fall into the arms of this beauty.

When the pain became overbearing he made his escape into the kitchen's hall where he had intended to go in the first place, but he did not make his way toward the kitchen like previously planned, instead he hid in the hallway and tried to catch his breath.

_"You shall know no vision of appearance nor shall I tell you of a time destined. But know this that I shall open your eyes to the one I have created for you."_ That is what the General had said.

"A boy, so little," Russia gasped out, panting as if he'd just run all the way across Europe and back. He didn't know why he felt so out of breath but he placed the blame on his raging heart that begged for release. "He's the one . . . but why?"

"Sire?"

Russia straightened himself and noticed a messenger boy had come to him. The boy looked at him with concern before inclining his head and saying, "The Empress has been awoken to greet the guests and requests your presence. She would have you dress your finest. They are American."

American? Why had that sounded so familiar? Russia's mind was in a daze for the time being and he decided to focus his mental capacity to follow his Empress's command. He returned to his room based on routine and dressed himself before coming to the throne room where she had awaited him. As he took his stance next to Catherine the Great the guards ushered the guests in.

"The hour is late," the Empress informed and Russia, standing so close, could see the weary bags underneath her eyes. He was honestly surprised she got up to greet them.

"Apologies," the older man had said as he bowed before her. "We had not expected you to be as kind to personally greet us seeing how the hour is late."

"I must say I would have not if I had not been informed that he would make an appearance." The Empress's eyes sparkled as she looked upon the boy with golden locks. His stance mirrored that of the adult in his company and anyone could see from observing him that he was no mere boy. "You're the colony, aren't you?"

The boy stepped forward and Russia felt his throat constrict to where he could barely breathe. He had never felt such a pull before and now he felt he'd die if the boy didn't look at him.

"Empress," the boy spoke as he bowed himself. The sound of his voice gave the Russian nation shivers and now he was cursing General Winter for opening his eyes at the worst moment but he did not hate whom he had opened his eyes to.

"This is our country, the Thirteen American Colonies," the adult had said, his named had been a Mr. Dana.

Catherine smiled before her eyes glanced toward Russia whose eyes had been transfixed on the boy.

"A pleasure to finally see you," she said, her eyes turning back toward the colony and examining him. "My, so tall for a colony so young."

"I have been fed and raised in good health," America had said with a pleasant smile. "I am thankful for your generous greeting."

"Of course," she said with a smile. "You have been the subject throughout Europe for some time and in fact I had been anxious to behold your face. England doesn't let many see you."

Russia and Catherine both caught America glance down at the mention of his parent nation's name. Neither would press for reason because both assumed they already knew when in reality they may have not known.

"Well, now that my curiosity has been quenched, please, follow my servants to you designated rooms in my palace. We shall have breakfast together when we are all well rested and warmed from the cold," the Empress said as she stood and waved them away.

When the guests were being led out Russia remained standing by his Empress's side for a moment, his eyes lingering on the boy as the colony turned and looked at him. Their eyes met for a brief moment but in that time Russia felt a small sort of connection—whether the boy felt what he did was unclear but Russia had felt a weave and it needed to be knit in further. There were ways to accomplish that, but the boy was too young and more than likely did not know how nations unified. So with a kind smile he watched the young colony be ushered off with his party. He heard him speaking to the young boy with him asking, "Was that their country?" Good he knew how to sense a nation when in the presence of one. No doubt he'd been sheltered all his life and knew no one but England or a few others. He had much to learn.

But Russia couldn't wait for him to learn all of those things because it took years, centuries to learn and Russia's patience was running out. Now that he knew what his mate looked like he had to run back to his room and lock himself inside. He was just a mere boy and he, himself, so very old. How cruel and unfair the General was. But that was like the ghost to play such tricks on him.

This year would definitely be one of remembrance as he finally met the American colony destined by fate and his god to become his mate.

1781

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**Daughter Of The Revolution:**** Okay, historical fact time incase anyone is confused. This right now is based around the time when the American Colonies were fighting for their independence. England was trying and I mean trying to get to Russia to help them out. In this chapter England had come to them for a second time after getting declined the first time they asked for help from the Russian Empire. When the Navigation Acts was mentioned it was saying that despite England not wanting to let foreign nations trade with their colonies (parituclarly the American colonies) they did so anyways [The act forbid it but no one cared]. And in 1781 was when America sent out ambassadors to Russia to ask for recognition as an independent country. There, little history for ya guys. ;)**

**Also, **

**In this fic England is America's father (as well as Austrailia's, New Zealand, and other such British colonies). Why? Because country-wise they are our [us Americans] parent nation, so yeah . . . America is England's baby (his oldest as well, so keep in mind to the emotional attachment to that).**

**America is also a tad bit smaller than he looked in the Anime around this time. Why? Because in reality America was technically 174 (if you count his actual "birth" day as May 4th 1607), and he was only 13 states strong, the majority of his land didn't come until the mid 1800's and onwards so I see him looking possibly 14-15ish considering how he's like "19" in the 1940's or somethin'. So I see him as at least the same height as England if not a tad bit shorter, maybe by a hair. So yes, Russia having an attraction to him is akin to a pedophile because he looks that young and that is why Russia's having a hard time with it. :P**


	3. Too Young to Understand?

**Daughter Of The Revolution: So, if you guys wanna know. I am inspired greatly by music and the song, "Sally's Song" by Amy Lee, is what inspires me with this pairing (RUSAME) especially in this fanfic. It fits them so well and speaks like Russia's feelings/heart. So give it a listen while reading and you'll see what I mean ;)**

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St. Petersburg, Russia 1781

Breakfast had been easy and all seemed to get along just finely.

"So tell me your name, Amerika. What did the ever prideful England name you?" Catherine had asked after she wiped her mouth clean of the pastries served that morning. She leaned closer and narrowed her eyes in anticipation. She had thought of many names she assumed the boy to be named but alas it was ever a mystery until stated.

"He named me Alfred Kirkland," America answered. His eyes glanced toward the tall hosting nation who had sat ever silent next to his ruler, but his eyes held his form all morning as did the Empress's. "I was named after King Alfred, a great rul—"

"I know who the man was," Catherine said as she leaned back and placed her hands in her lap. She smiled at him almost as if a mother who gazed upon their own child. Before long she let out a sigh and a frown appeared across her rosy lips. "You are just a boy. I cannot imagine what possessed you to outright reject your reigning nation."

"With all due respect, ma'am, but if you lived under his rule you'd try to find a way out as quickly as possible," America said and Ivan and his ruler noticed how his grip upon his knife tightened.

"You have passion even after fighting for so long. You're one of the lucky," Catherine said before she sighed once more. "Why are you here then? Surely your military forces need you by their side after coming this far."

"I don't intend to stay long," America admitted. "I only came to offer my support to these ambassadors my council has chosen. My commander said it would be good to let the other nations see my face so that they can see for themselves that I am real and that my strife and turmoil rumored and gossiped upon in the high courts is real."

"A sound and intelligent move on your part," Catherine acknowledged. "I can see your mind is sharp and will only develop for the better, especially if you win this war of yours."

"Would you and your country be willing to recognize me?" America asked and it was then the two understood why he was really there. He was looking for recognition among other sovereign countries. No doubt England refuses to acknowledge him in such a way.

The child was really trying to push everyone off their fences.

"So early for such a major decision," Catherine remarked before getting up. "If you would give me time to speak to my nation on this matter."

After excusing themselves Catherine and Russia retreated to a private room, there she turned to him and noticed his off-gaze.

"You haven't spoken a word since your head arose from your pillow," Catherine noted and it was then her nation looked at her. "Why, I did not think the boy would infatuate you that much."

"I had thought so as well, but the General has shown me otherwise," Russia confessed. He watched his Empress's brow furrow before her bright eyes widened. Her lips parted and she turned to look for a seat to sit herself in before she fainted.

"The General, are you sure?" she asked, quite serious. All of his leaders knew of the spirit as did the lowly peasant though the nobles were more inclined to speak often about him than the trembling sacrifices. Russia nodded and he heard Catherine inhale a deep breath.

"What a joke he's wrought," she said with a shake of her head. "He's not even an official nation, Russia. How can he be your destined mate promised to you by General Winter?"

"I don't know," Russia said as he rose his gloved fingers to his dark coat, pulling on the fabric, not caring if the golden seams and gem buttons pulled loose. "But it hurts, my Empress. My heart is within seconds from ripping out of me and falling into that child's arms. "

Raising her fingers to count all of the things wrong with the selection, Catherine begins by saying, "He's only a child." She rose one finger to signify the offense. "He's not even a nation." A second finger rose. "He's England's boy." Another finger was risen. "Mary's virginity, he's not even European!" The Empress had grown tired of using up her fingers and threw her hands in the air.

"I must have him, my Empress. I must." Russia pressed, his body stiff and full of the stress of waiting for the General to open his eyes only to show him to a mere child.

"Silence!" Catherine hissed. "You shall refrain yourself from him. The General may have opened your eyes but he did not open young Amerika's. We are in a delicate position right now. He's asked for us to recognize him."

"I will," Russia hastily spoke but the glare from his ruler put him back in place and he stilled himself.

"We'd risk entering a war with England if we take the boy's side," Catherine explained. "But I cannot risk losing him. I very much enjoy the bountiful resources he offers us in trade. I may need time to weigh my options."

Russia was smiling now and as his Empress looked to see the grin, the Russian opened his violet eyes and said, "Take your time. I'm certain he won't leave until he hears your decision."

The woman harkened to her nation and it was because of her slow decision that Russia was able to examine his destined mate more. He observed his interaction with the servants and with the nobles and with his own people. He seemed so out of place there in Europe. He was always on his best behavior around Russia's people but it was only when he was with the Americans that he watched the young colony ease himself and actually laugh and joke around. He had a beautiful laugh and very witty jokes. Russia was liking the boy ever more by the day.

But the there was still the fact that he was still just a child, a British child at that. With such bad-blood running through his veins it was almost a turn-off, but Russia fell in love with his beauty. He was outstandingly more handsome than the nation who sired him. His personality was down common unlike his uptight parent country.

Russia had still yet to interact with him though and it disturbed him to think he, himself, was becoming "shy". Hadn't he outgrown his weak timid self centuries ago? What was stopping him from going out into the gardens to talk to the boy? He was all alone and was simply sitting on the stone bench reading a novel. A scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck and a thick coat engulfed him. It was entering March and the snow had stopped but the weather was still chilly, though that did not stop the American from finding solitude in the gardens when the others stayed inside by the fireplace.

Russia smiled and walked up to the boy, finding the opportunity unable to pass up. He stood there for a minute or two and realized the boy didn't even know he was there. With another smile he leaned over and spoke quite close to his red ear.

"What are you reading?"

America jumped and pulled himself away a bit before letting his eyes settle on the form of Russia. He looked surprised to see him and Russia could understand why. For the past few months that the colony had stayed there Russia only looked and made his presence discreet. He was mostly by his Empress's side for representation and after business talks were finished Russia would excuse himself.

"Oh, I . . ." America seemed flustered as he got his bearings together after the hosting nation finally spoke to him. Turning back to pick up the book that had fallen in his lap he smiled sheepishly and held it up to the older nation. "Common Sense. I read it every morning; reminds me of home."

Russia looked at the small book for a moment before looking back at America who was rubbing his hands together.

"Why don't you go inside where there is fire? I hear the winters in the American colonies are harsh but the bite here is particularly world-known." Russia offered a smile for speaking of General Winter. The old man should thank him that he hadn't forgotten him.

"It's fine," America admitted. "I have a lot on my mind and I know the gardens are empty. I just want to be alone sometimes, no matter the weather."

"I see," Russia said as he offered a bow. "Then I should leave you to your peace of mind."

"Wait!"

Russia smiled when he heard the boy call out for him to stop. Turning back around he shifted his facade to that of curiosity so not to frighten the boy with his smiles which he had heard from various nations could frighten even the monsters hidden away under the beds. "Da?" Russia offered and noticed the little boy chewing on his bottom lip.

"I never really get to talk to other . . . nations," America admitted as he glanced up at the tall nation with beautiful and honest eyes.

"It is because you are not a nation yourself," Russia informed. The boy perked up and opened his lips in the shape of an "o". Bowing his head the boy looked slightly depressed.

"Is that it?" he had asked but it sounded as if he were whispering it to himself. He stood up and he picked up his book before turning fully to Russia and surprising him with a polite bow and a brilliant smile that about melted Russia's very being. "Well then, I shall have to become a nation as soon as possible. Um, Russia?"

"Da?" Russia felt his breath catch from the boy's smile and when that smile faded he looked into the boy's eyes and saw his earnest heart. He was so young, so very innocent and so full of fire—unlike him. He was nothing but an icy fortress and Russia often wondered if the General had opened his eyes to the wrong person.

"Will you promise me you'll speak to me when I do?" America asked, lifting his eyes to meet Russia's ancient violet ones. He let the boy hold his gaze so he could see how strong Russia was, how old he was, how dark he was. He wanted him to see his fortresses, his history, his struggles as a child, and his triumph over the rest of the nations of powerful Europe.

The boy was overwhelmed and his gaze faltered. Glancing away he dared glance back up into Russia's eyes twice more before leaving his gaze down at his feet. With a small whisper, America parted himself with an, "Excuse me," and stepped from Russia.

"Stay."

America stopped and turned back toward Russia who stood tall and haunting like some human spirit who had yet to find their light and fade away. America had never seen anyone like him before. He had met France, the Netherlands, as well as Spain and Prussia, but since meeting Russia he had been awed by him and his land and people. He didn't know what is was about him but the nation felt as if he were a familiar friend of some sorts—the sorts possibly dreamt of in dreams.

Russia turned his eyes upon him and held his gaze before saying, "Come walk with me. I am in need of a companion to converse with."

There was a small smile, Russia had seen it. It tilted the corner of America's mouth and put a small skip into the colony's step as he made his way back to his side quicker than expected. Russia kept his smiles to himself and enjoyed the boy's company as they walked throughout the large expanse of the garden. He often wondered if the child knew he was the one speaking mostly. Russia had not said a word since he had suggested the walk and it amused him so.

His vocals were so young he still sounded like a child, but he could hear the deepening pitch. It was a sign of maturity and it was odd being that the colony was so young. It was a little frightening to think what would become of him once he becomes inducted into nationhood, should that happen.

He was so full of energy, as any young one would be but the fact that he was only over a century old disturbed Russia. He shouldn't be this grown; he should still be just a babe.

"Who's this?"

Russia came out of his thoughts as their walk brought them to the center of the vast garden where a fountain was positioned and in the center of the dried fountain was the high statue of his old ruler.

Russia smiled and said, "That is Ivan the Great. He was the first man to unite my people and I respected him greatly."

"Wow, so he's like George," America whispered as he hopped into the fountain and walked up to the statue to take a better look at the sculpted man. "I wonder if he'll be that to me."

Reaching out he touched the statue and marveled at its age. Russia flinched mentally and figured he should warn him of the hazard.

"I wouldn't be so close to that statue. It's quite old and ready brea—!"

Russia acted quick as the old thing finally toppled over like the old gardeners predicted. America had just stood there not knowing what to do and instead of jump out of the way he was shielded by the large country who wrapped one arm around his waist and the other arm he held up and halted the statue's descent.

"Break," Russia finished, shaking his head at the boy who looked quite surprised and awed by his strength. The statue was huge and Russia was merely holding it up with one arm.

"Sorry," America offered as Russia pushed it back onto its stand and dusted the colony off.

"Unlike your buildings mine are much older than yourself," Russia explained after dusting his own hands off of the dirt collected from the statue. He was trying to explain to the boy to not touch but the colony's eyes were fixed on the statue behind him and Russia was about to snap his attention away with a clap of his palms had not the boy jumped behind him and pushed the statue back correctly before it wobbled over again.

With wide eyes Russia turned and watched America back away from the statue before deeming it safe and offering a big smile to Russia. "Mr. Ivan the _Terrible_ was still wobbling after you pushed it back and it about nearly fell on you. So I pushed it back to where it won't fall now. Not any time soon at least."

Again, that statue was huge. How could such a small young boy push it back like it was made out of parchment? It had taken years upon centuries for Russia to build up his strength but this boy seemed to have been blessed with it since birth. Strength meant might, particularly military might and that was something America didn't have.

All of the other countries eventually broke under Russia. In his race to become recognized as a high European power he had become—dare he say—_too_ strong. Because of this the others would not look at him for long. They would not stay and chat with him in the meeting rooms. They would not compete with him even in simple games of sport. So he became a recluse and was only sought out for alliances for his might—as England had done some years back.

But now, here was this boy who moved stone like he had. Here was this boy who was amazed at his might but not frightened away from his presence. The General had known what he was doing when he had chosen America for him.

_He's perfect, General Winter_, Russia inwardly praised and in that a cold gust of air whooshed past the two, making America curl in on himself for warmth in his coat but Russia welcomed the refreshment that let him know the General was watching and overseeing everything.

"Come, America, let's return back inside to the fires of the hall," Russia said, offering his hand. He could see the boy trembling and the sound of his chattering teeth only grew louder. He was surprised once again as the boy reached out and took his hand. No other nation had touched him like this in centuries.

Taking the chance to test something for himself, Russia squeezed the boy's hand tighter than polite. In fact this grip would have popped a few fingers out of place but the boy seemed to notice this and so defended his own bones by returning the pressure to make the grasp more stiff. Nothing broke; no one said a thing and Russia pulled the boy out of the waterless fountain.

Russia didn't want to let go of the hand as he eased his grip but he did not want to frighten the child and so let go and settled for having the American walk close next to him. It did his soul good to find someone so similar to him, at heart and strength.

From their first walk in the garden sprouted more. Now every morning the two would each sit side-by-side on a designated bench and begin their day with a chapter or two of a selected book. After which they'd walk in the garden and talk about nothing in general. Russia could see America pleased that he knew so much about agriculture, a subject America seemed most interested in.

"I thought you would be like most noble countries," America admitted as he gazed at the small buds on the otherwise barren branches of the bushes surrounding the garden. "You know, talk about commerce and royalty and wars and such."

"All of us still have to farm," Russia explained. "Even if they don't speak about it they do know about it."

"Tell that to France," America said with a chuckle. "All he cared about was war or fashionable clothing."

"Maybe you should have found pleasure conversations with the Netherlands then," Russia informed. "He is quite fond of farming."

"Really?" America asked. "But the man seemed so immersed in talks of trade that I didn't see any such thing similar to a farmer in him."

Russia merely rolled his shoulders as he observed America touch each young bug that he could see. A thought had come to his mind. He had known he had sought out other nations before him. The one that concerned him the most was France and by looking at the young beautiful boy he knew that not even that molester could hold himself back.

"America," Russia spoke up. America turned toward him with a, "Hm?" and Russia spoke again. "What did you speak to the other nations about while you visited them?"

Something seemed to click inside the boy's mind and it was as if he went into official presentation mode. He straightened and said, "Mostly about my recognition. I would leave representatives in each country in hopes to sway them to my cause. So far I have France, Spain, the Netherlands, and Mysore. It's a start."

"If I do not recognize you, then what?" Russia inquired.

America pondered his thoughts for a while before looking sadly at him. "I'll have to leave. I'm sorry but I'm not allowed to wait any unnecessary time that could be used for my recognition into nationhood."

"I see," Russia said with a nod. "Do you realize what will happen if I do acknowledge you?"

America nodded with a smile. "I'll be one step closer to nationhood and you'll offer support and encouragement to my men back in the states."

"I'd have to throw myself into war," Russia explained. "Know you this that my Empress doesn't want to do that."

He saw America's face depress. His shoulders slumped rather quickly and his body stood still. He then looked at him curiously before the blond opened his mouth and asked, "Do _you_ want to help me, Russia?"

America was addressing him as a person with his own conflictions and thoughts. Normally he was addressed as the whole entire country as he should be. This boy still had so much to learn.

Russia smiled before he shook his head.

"Nyet, Amerika. That is not how you converse with a nation."

America cocked his head to the side in confusion before he watched the nation move closer to him. "I am a whole, not one, as are you, as is France, as is Spain, as are the others. We are not human and are not to be addressed like such. Our thoughts are our leader's thoughts; our decisions are what they choose them to be."

"I don't believe that."

Silly boy.

"Why is that, Amerika?" Russia asked curiously.

"Because it is me who wants to break my ties with my fa—with the British Empire. Many of my people didn't want to and so they left me to defend myself," America admitted.

"You see, then that means those who are left make up your thoughts for you, those thoughts being to break away," Russia explained. "You are young, a babe in nation years and yet you are not a nation. It takes time to understand how one works and sometimes you'll wish you were so simple as the humans that dwell in your land."

"What do you mean?" America asked.

Russia peered down at him and then raised his hand and let the knuckle of his index finger brush against America's high cheekbone. The boy seemed taken aback, his eyes full of confusion.

"What are you feeling when I touch you like this?" Russia asked.

"I . . . I don't . . . why are you doing this?" America asked and it was then Russia watched another emotion besides confusion settle in the child's gaze.

When Russia pressed further by trailing his finger down the line of the boy's jaw partly for testing his reaction but mostly because he had wanted to touch him so intimately, the boy hit his hand away rather harshly. He had perhaps expected this but not the trembling fear threatening to leak out of the colony's eyes.

Instead of dwelling on it Russia straightened his form and took the role of informing older sibling in a sense before the colony. "Nations may share the same mindset of their people but how they interact with other nations differ from normal human relationships. Perhaps I am in the same room as my enemy; we will eventually break out into a fight. Say I am in a crowd and a nation has hidden himself amongst the populace; I will find him because nations emit auras both powerful and weak, but national in the sense that it is an aura to be recognized. Say that I touch a nation I am infatuated with," Russia then glanced at America who looked to be having a hard time keeping up with Russia's explanation of the concept of Countries/Nations. "They will be able to tell if my touch is innocent, friendly, passionate, or lustful. Did you feel anything in my touch, Amerika?"

America seemed to go back to it but he shook his head and looked rather nervous. He didn't say anything but he continued to stand there with his hands gripping the edges of his jacket.

"Were you ever touched by the others?" America looked up at Russia with surprisingly understanding eyes. He looked slightly offended when Russia asked him that, but it didn't matter, Russia's question did not falter under America's tense stare. He remained quiet and Russia continued to press him for an answer. "Are you untainted, Amerika?"

Once again America stayed quiet and instead of just standing there he actually turned and stormed off in an upset mood. Russia's fears began to settle in. Had the others touched him? He had thought about France the more. The thought upset him and he cursed the General.

_No, he is supposed to be mine alone. I am the one to taint him with my love. The others should not touch him. If they have, General, you had better pay me penance!_ Russia inwardly swore as he took off after the colony.

Russia had caught up with the boy even though America had been walking rather fast. The boy had entered into the palace without letting the servants dust him off and took his cloak and scarf with him through the halls, not caring to let the servants put the articles of clothing away. The moment America crossed the main hall Russia watched the boy run toward the other wall and throw himself against a pillar. His eyes caught his and he saw fear in them. Ever so curiously Russia walked slowly toward him with questioning glances before something caught his sight to his right.

Turning Russia watched his servants greeting a nation—the nation being none other than England himself.

"England, what a pleasant surprise you are here," Russia said, putting on his greeting smile and now realizing why America had jumped so quickly into the next hallway.

"Sorry to come so unannounced," England apologized as he took off his hat. "I was just in the vicinity and thought I'd come by to see how you were fairing."

"I'm glad you took the time to concern yourself for my wellbeing," Russia said with a smile that honestly hid no true feelings from the empire. "Just take a look at yourself. You seem to be the one not fairing well at all."

The bags under England's eyes, the dull color of hue in his irises, his slumped shoulders; all seemed to point toward his all-too-known struggle with his colony and from the current gossip, all wasn't going well for the British Empire's part. Already six years into that little rebellion and it's taking its toll. Russia smirked. It's hard wasn't it, when you were fighting all by yourself.

"Well, that's life, old chap," England said and Russia noticed that even his voice was drawn out and soft—weary.

There was a short silence before Russia let out a smile and grinned once more. "Well, we've said hello and I am fine and you are not. You can leave now."

Russia turned and waved his hand to issue the servants to escort England back outside. He didn't care for politeness at that moment. He didn't care about England, especially after how he had mistreated his young colony.

"W-Wait, Russia!" England called out and Russia turned to him, looking rather uninterested and slightly annoyed but he thought he'd humor himself and see what the pathetic nation had to say—seeing how he's come such a long way and all.

England glanced down and then back up to Russia. The man used to be the one looking down on everyone no matter their stature, now he's remembered his place as the small maggot that he was.

"All is not well in the war," England finally admitted with a heavy sigh. "At first I was having to deal with him but then he . . . he . . . he goes out abroad and bloody whores himself to the others, enticing them to join in the battle." Russia could see England's gloved fists shaking. His bared teeth were grinding together and Russia could see the shade of his face turning a slight red. He was angry. So very angry with America. Either with him asking the others for help or the others trooping up against him.

With a shake of his head Russia crossed his arms. "That is not my problem to deal with, _Britain_. He is yours—well, not for long if the war continues in his favor."

"What do you want, Russia? !" England barked out, his dull eyes now sparking with frustration beyond count. "Do you want a piece of my empire? Fine! You can have Minorca. I'm not asking for your damned army this time. I just want someone on my side. I _need_ someone to help me convince the others to stay out of this; to let me handle it alone, and to leave my colony's rebellion to me."

"Nothing but gossip and rumors reach my ears," Russia said. "I do not know entirely why the Thirteen are so upset with you. But even so, this is your fault. Whether it was a lack of parenting presence or an act of obsessive overprotection you have forced him away and into the arms of others. Why does it matter anyways? Why can't you colonize somewhere where you're wanted?"

"Because he's the first to survive!" England said and then inhaled a deep breath to steady himself as his outbursts revealed deep emotional ties that didn't need to be shared publically, especially with a nation he was trying to get to become his ally but always insulted him.

Russia decided not to make any rhetoric remark this time. It wouldn't be fair, not for England. He remembered that. It wasn't easy colonizing and England seemed to have one of the worst luck for it. His first child died quite young and it wasn't until some 23 years later that England tried for another, this resulted in Alfred.

Russia took a quick glance to his left where America still had his presence. He had wondered why he hadn't just left but he found the boy to be frozen. Was he that afraid of his parent country? If only he could see England's state then he'd realize that he was winning, he was beating an empire. That was quite a feat for something like a colony.

"He's growing fast, England," Russia spoke after the silence. England looked at him and then nodded.

"I know," the Brit said with a sad smile. "But he's still so young."

"Perhaps it is destiny," Russia suggested. "Even the Norwegians had to let go of their colonies."

Suddenly Russia watched a quick shift in England's mood just by mentioning the country.

"Well I'm not Norway," He spat, that arrogant prick returning in full force. Russia watched the man straighten his form and narrow his eyes. "The war isn't over yet and if I have to fight tooth and nail for him just to prove to him how important he is to me then I shall."

"Him or his resources?" Russia asked with a knowing smile. "You seem to forget the colony has a personification. He's not just a territory marked on a map."

"You seem to slide more toward his side," England said with a frown. "Have I lost my only ally to his wretched rebellion as well?"

"I was never your ally, England," Russia informed. "You're not a friendly nation, nor are you reliable."

England bit back a snarl as Russia looked down at him with condemning eyes.

"I ask so little of you!" England spat. "You're the unreliable one! If you're not for me then you're my enemy."

England turned on his heel and made to leave.

"We'll see about that when you'll need my trade after losing your colony." Russia remarked and reveled in watching England's shoulders stiffen. It was true, if he lost America then he'd have to trade with him, ally or not. With a pleased smile he watched England storm out in an anger, nearly plowing through the servants as they tried to open the door for him.

"Heh, I'll have to tell Catherine about this. She does so love to gossip," Russia said before turning back toward America and noticing the boy had slunk down to the floor. With concern in his features Russia approached the colony. "Amerika?" he questioned but the boy would not look at him.

"I knew he'd hate me," America said as he fiddled with his stockings.

"Relationships between countries are never meant to be eternal," Russia admitted.

America let out a sigh and leaned his forehead against his knees. "He just . . . I did it because . . . because he wouldn't listen. Because I wanted him to know how much I _hated_ him."

"You're still so young. You do not really know the hard chains of hate yet. It's best you forget that word entirely," Russia suggested, standing tall before him like a role model with which he should dress himself after.

When America looked at him Russia could see his blue eyes hard as if battle-torn and centuries tortured. He didn't know why he had that look or how it came to be but there was a definite hate in his those gems. The boy had not lied about feeling hate. He knows the feeling.

Feeling the need to kneel Russia does so and then leans closer toward the colony. America did not pull himself away this time. He simply stared Russia down like some power confronted before him. He was a curious child and Russia felt that if he could have him then and there then he could shape him into a powerful ally—something England could use.

His loss; Russia's gain.

"What horrors have you seen to make you think you can stare me down like that?" Russia asked, his own eyes boring down on the boy, trying to push him into submission but there was a blue fire in America's eyes and he almost seemed in some sort of trance. He held his ground good.

"I will win, Russia," America swore and if Russia wasn't such a realist then he'd come to hope for the future in expectation for victory, but until he saw it played out in real time then he'd hold his own opinion to himself. "I will."

Russia leaned back as America pressed himself upward and stood, leaving his presence. His walk was full of determination and Russia loved him more for his spirit.

_That's it, keep fighting, Amerika_, Russia thought. _Once you're free, you're free to come right back into my arms._

* * *

**Daughter Of The Revolution:**** History time!**

**Empress Catherine the Great never officially came out on either side partly because she didn't want to get involved in the war. But her want of trade with the Americans suggested she favored the Americans winning the Revolutionary War.**

**When America talks about some of his people not wanting to fight against the British and just left instead, he was referring to Tories: American people loyal to the crown. So, most of them either went with the British or just moved up to Canada to stay loyal.**

**Also, when America refers to Russia's Ivan the Great as Ivan the _Terrible_, yes it was a pun at what he's sometimes rerferred to seeing how a lot of people don't see him so "great".**

**Now England did indeed make a third attempt at friendship with Russia back in 1781. This time they didn't even ask for military support. They just flat out offered them a part of their empire, that part being the island of Minorca. All they wanted was for Russia to convince the other countries to stay out of the fight since England was being ganged up on. Russia did decline the bribery and what they did next was quite funny, but not so funny on the British's part.**

**Lastly, but not least,**

**When it was mentioned that England lost a "child" that is a reference to the colony of Roanoke in North Carolina, also known as The Lost Colony. It was established in the late 1500's but was then lost some time later. No one knows what became of it except all of the people were gone. Still an unsolved mystery and in this story it is England's very first child that died (or vanished mysteriously, whatever you wish).**


	4. Biding

Vienna, Austria. March 1781

A few weeks later Russia and his Empress had declared themselves neutral in America's war. Russia in all honesty had wanted to help the boy personally but what his Empress said goes, such is the rules of a country. Looking over toward America and his ambassadors he saw his disappointed look but a small smile crept on his lips as he told him, "Well, at least you're not against me."

The boy was very forgiving in nature and Russia admired that about him. It was a shame he had to leave before he could tell him about England's horrified face when he posted his little "bribery" to France and Spain. That seemed to upset them to a new level of anger.

"You son of a bitch, Angleterre!" France shouted as he slammed the posted parchment down upon the table they had been sitting at in discussion. The blond had been so upset he knocked his chair out from under him, it already being a sturdy chair.

"That can be considered cheating in this game, mi amigo," Spain said with a shake of his head while they all stared down at England who looked as if he wanted to curl in on himself and disappear from the earth.

The little empire looked helpless and when he turned to look at Russia his eyes were wide with disbelief. His jaw hung loose and bobbed up and down as if he were trying to form a sentence to excuse his actions, but nothing was coming out of his mouth.

Russia smiled and that smile always invoked an anger to whoever it was directed at. This time it was England like it had been for a while now and that did the trick to get him to speak.

"He . . . he's lying!" England protested, pointing his finger accusingly toward Russia. "I would never—!"

"I have witnesses. The servants were near and heard every word you said to me," Russia explained.

"Bah! Servants obey their masters and if they tell them to lie then they will. Untrustworthy lot," England shot back.

"Then perhaps you'd like confirmation from your colony who heard it all as well." Russia smiled at England as his eyes widened and the words were left short on his lips.

"America?" England whispered, his lips quivering with disbelief that his colony had been there and heard everything he said. "He was there?"

"He arrived a few weeks earlier with a couple of his ambassadors," Russia informed. "I assume he was on his way to visit everyone in asking to be recognized." When he glanced toward France and Spain he watched them nod their heads.

"Why?" Russia turned to see England, his eyes glistening with hurt and betrayal. "Why didn't you tell me he was with you?"

"Because he made it very clear that he hated you and I would assume one does not want to see the object of their hate," Russia replied and watched England close his eyes tight before shaking his head.

"That stupid boy," England muttered before turning back to the others. France looked the most upset by this, but then again, when England did something unspeakable he was always the most upset whether it was against him or not. Spain looked quite serious though kept to himself.

"You are a pompous swine!" France once again spat. "It tis no wonder little Amérique wants to be free of you. You always think you're above the laws set out. Well that is why I'm helping him. No one deserves to be treated like that and if I find out my Mattieu is being treated the same I shall fight alongside him for his independence as well."

The guilty stayed silent. England bowed his head before quietly excusing himself and leaving. When he left the room Russia felt a hand clap onto his shoulder. Turning he saw France with a soft smile—something very unbefitting of him.

"Merci, Russie, for sharing that with us. I honestly didn't know but I wouldn't think anything less than that from him," France said. "Say, why did you claim neutrality? You could be a good ally for Amérique. He needs all the help he can get, and it's the perfect opportunity to stick your boot into Angleterre's cul." France wiggled his eyebrows with eager anticipation before chuckling darkly. Russia sighed inwardly. France might find it arousing to do that but Russia very much enjoyed watching it from afar—for now at least.

England to him was nothing more than a nuisance, a pest that he could swat with his hand if he wanted to. He was that acquaintance who claimed friendship but when your carriage's wheel comes off on your way to his home he doesn't send out servants to go and help, instead you just end up sitting there in the mud trying to fix the damn thing only to get pneumonia and die. That was how Russia explained his relationship with England and he knew a good many other nations who thought the same.

So let him be alone. Let the others team up against him. It was just deserts and Russia couldn't help but laugh at it. He spared the losing empire no sympathy at all.

* * *

Paris, France. September 1783

Russia smiled as the young boy glanced down at the parchment for the hundredth time. It was as if he couldn't believe what he was reading. The tips of his fingers curled inward, wrinkling the paper just to feel it in his palms. Pure relief washed over him and Russia could see it in his eyes that he was very pleased with the outcome.

"It is real and it has come to pass, Amerika," Russia assured but still the boy continued to read it again and again, often out loud.

"It's over," the blond whispered, his hands shaking and it was then that Russia caught sight of glistening tears leaking out of the boy's eyes. "It's . . . done."

At first Russia caught a smile on the boy's lips before his eyes closed shut and he raised his arm to rub furiously at the tears that began to stain his face, leaving weak streaks everywhere and irritated red skin behind. Stilling himself he inhaled a deep breath before easing out a sigh and then uncovering his face. Due to his red eyes his blue hues shown brighter in contrast and Russia couldn't help but think the tears, the sadness or happiness—whatever it was—made him all the more beautiful. He honestly doubted there was anything in the world that could mar his beautiful image.

"I wish you all the happiness in the world," Russia congratulated with an incline of his head as he glanced toward his ambassadors who had come to visit France's home to see the now free colony.

"My thanks, but there is still one thing that upsets me," America admitted.

Russia raised his brow and then narrowed his eyes. What could possibly be upsetting the young colony now? It was already irritable to see the boy cry so if he had to get into a war just to make who had done this pay then he might as well.

America's blue eyes glanced down, somewhat bashfully and Russia watched the boy clasp his calloused hands together, warn from fighting a war too soon for his kind, the thumbs twiddling slightly before he said, "You have . . . you've yet to acknowledge me."

Russia stared blankly at the lad before blinking in understanding. Oh. Yes, he was right. Now that he thought about it, Russia had yet to officially declare his nationhood.

France, Morocco, Spain, Sweden, the Netherlands, and now finally England; they had all acknowledged America's induction into nationhood. He knew the others would follow soon after them. He knew this boy would not stop until the entirety of the world saw him for the destined greatness he was.

With a smile Russia leaned closer toward the nation, something he enjoyed doing if only to be closer to the boy in a sense, though America had yet to understand such motions and gestures.

"Maybe later," Russia replied with a playful smile. "Prove yourself to me and I may reconsider. Do syvidanya, Amerika."

He forced himself to leave America's side when all he wanted to do was hold him in his arms and praise him for his accomplishment, as well as offer him a place at his home, but he doubted that the boy would want to live under someone else's house after escaping one. That was for another time and it was Russia's way to hopefully trick his mental frame to wait for the lad to grow. His patience had nearly run out and so he needed to be away from him. Away to his own thoughts and fantasies.

* * *

**Daughter Of The Revolution****: So sorry for the short chapter, but I couldn't cut it anywhere else because the next chapter is super long. So my treat for the next one. **

**History time!**

**Okay, so, see what Russia did? That is right, they published the "bribery" to Spain and France and I can't imagine they were too happy about that.**

**Also, in case I hadn't made myself clear. The reason why Russia dislikes England so much is because he was unreliable as an ally. Yep, apparently they backed out right in the middle of the Seven Years War where they made to leave the conflict and left Prussia (who happened to be allies with Russia at the time) all by themselves to get their butts handed to them. So this is just deserts all the way and Russia's loving it.**

**And in 1783 was when the Revolutionary War was officially over and England signed over the territory to the Americans and acknowledged their independence though begrudgingly seeing how the King swore to keep fighting and to never give up the 13 colonies. In the end they caved into the Americans.**


	5. First-Name Basis

1803

It'd been twenty years since England had given up his colony. The boy'd been busy in those past two decades. He wasn't lying when he told Russia he'd make the rest of the world recognize him. Right now there were a good twenty nations recognizing the child and thusly inducting him into nationhood.

Though he had not seen the child since Paris, Russia made sure to keep tabs on his whereabouts and happenings. The two kept news through ambassadors but that still wasn't enough. So, Russia devised a way to get the busy little one back into his home.

Russia offered him a banquet in honor of the 20th anniversary England let him become independent. The response was rather quick and it wasn't long that Russia was anticipating seeing the boy again.

"His ship is still on the sea, my lord," Russia servant informed him that day. Even though Russia knew how long it would take to sail to his home and then cross Europe he still continued to ask his servant men every day where the boy was and they always gave their best estimated guess unless otherwise informed by message boys.

Russia was very expectant of this visit because he had planned everything out. He was going to give the working boy a gift that he know he'd like and if he could help it . . . he'd find a way to keep him at his home a little longer than expected.

He was supposed to arrive late August so he could be in time for the banquet held on September 3rd signifying the anniversary of the official end of his war for independence, but their ship had been delayed and instead the young colo—nation had arrived a month late still with that every apologetic smile on his face that Russia couldn't resist.

St. Petersburg, Russia. October 28th 1803

"Sorry about that, ran into a few storms on the way here and had to travel the long way 'round," America had said in apology with that innocent smile that was unknowingly seducing the Russian nation.

Russia smiled in kind and inclined his head. With a small chuckle he would make sure the American knew he was no idiot. "Even so, the hurricanes on the sea cannot delay you for near another month."

It was then Russia caught it, the slight shift in the American's eyes. They fell to the right before looking at him. "Actually," America started out. "You're right. The ships made it on time. We were traveling here as fast as possible but I . . . kinda . . . wanted to stop by Prussia's home and pay him a visit."

"Prussia?" Russia asked with a raised brow. He and the German had been on decent terms as of late but the fact that the boy, _his_ destined mate, would linger in that man's house instead of coming to his palace was something to be upset over. He'd have to pay the albino a visit later after his guest had gone.

American bowed his head and clasped his hands together like he was to say some sort of prayer. "I'm very sorry. I meant to only stay for a day or two, but he insisted I stay longer and when I finally got the chance to glance at a calendar I realized I was late."

"You've missed the date and therefore the banquet with it. You've made me sad, Amerika," Russia said feigning a hurt look though in all honesty he was more angry than sad—particularly because he had rather been with Prussia than him who had been nothing but kind to him since he first came to him.

"Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" America was sincere and Russia didn't doubt an instant that he'd do anything to repay his offensive mistake, though Russia could think of many things that could be paid for it, he doubted the American would be comfortable with them all.

With an exaggerated sigh Russia thought for one moment before smiling. "There is one thing, but it'll have to wait until a little later. Right now, I'll settle for you obeying to do my every demand."

Russia watched America sheepishly grin as he nervously played with his fingertips, his eyes not looking at him. "Isn't that . . . a little much, Russia? After all, I'm a free country now. Not too used to being told what to do."

Russia frowned. "I am giving you a chance to apologize in action and you refuse?"

"No, no! That's not what I'm saying at all," America dejected as he waved his hands before slumping his shoulders with a sigh. "Okay, I guess I can do this. But for how long?"

"As long as your stay," Russia said with a pleased smile. He was happy that the American agreed to it. He inwardly promised he wouldn't do anything too rude. "And your first order is to have dinner with me this evening. I had a present to give you had you arrived on time and it is at dinner we shall discuss whether you deserve it or not."

"Well, it's not up to the recipient to decide if he should get the present," America stated. "If you think I'm unbefitting then don't give it to me."

"You won't be saying that after you see what it is," Russia informed with a knowing smirk.

And he was right. That night as they sat in the private national dining room used only for Russia to treat his country guests, the American wouldn't let go of the present. In fact he refused to take his eyes away from it even as Russia laughed at him.

"It should come as no surprise to you, Amerika, you already have most of Europe seeing you for who you really are," Russia informed as he bit a piece of his dinner into his mouth.

At first it was a gaping shock and then Russia curiously watched as America's mouth began to upturn into a small smile before his lips pulled back taut against his pearly white teeth. When America's eyes narrowed Russia noticed the glistening in the candlelight. He raised his brow, curious if the American was crying.

"I've waited so long," America said and instantaneously Russia fell in love with that soft smile. It was his favorite to date. Even more so than that energetic bright one he usually gives to his men in show of his liberty. "Why now?"

"It would have been earlier had you arrived on the scheduled time," Russia informed and smiled as America's eyes widened and darted back to the signed paper of national recognition from Imperial Russia, complete with his and his Emperor's signature.

"If I had known," America whispered, shaking his head for his own folly. With that same smile, this time the smile reaching up toward his eyes, the candlelight making them shine even more as they glistened. "I would have definitely skipped Prussia's house and headed straight here like I was supposed to."

"I'm glad the present is pleasing."

"So why?" America asked once more, this time his gaze held Russia's and it seemed he wouldn't detoured from his question again. "Why after twenty years did you do it?"

Leaning back in his chair Russia eased himself and looked at the young nation for a small moment, taking his appearance in. In a way he decided he had done it because of his appearance before him now. Looking at him he could see the boy had thickened. His arms were thick with growing muscle. His bones stretching and hardening. The boy was now up to Russia's jaw where when before he had come up to his chest. He was growing up so fast and Russia often wondered when he'd stop.

"I realize you've proven yourself enough," Russia stated. "You've proven to me and my people that you are a nation and should be recognized as such."

"Thank you," America said with a smile. "I appreciate every country who sees me as one of their own. Even if you had been the only one I'm sure I wouldn't be happier."

"I assume you say this to every country," Russia said with a playful smile though inwardly he often wondered.

"I really mean it, Russia," America said quite seriously as he placed the prized parchment back down on the table before looking down at his half-finished meal. "Well, looks like I'm too excited to finish my meal. Sorry."

"It is fine," Russia said before offering him a mischievous smile. "You still owe me for past grievances."

"Well, what would you have me do?" America asked with a nervous chuckle. "It's all within reason, right?"

"Da," Russia assured as he crossed his fingers together. "Tell me, Amerika. Do you celebrate All Saints Day?"

There was a blank look in the American's eyes that answered Russia's question.

"Um, no, I don't think I do," America answered honestly.

"Ah, of course," Russia said with a nod, realizing that America was indeed too Protestant to understand what the day and observance was. But that didn't matter; he wasn't looking forward to that day in particular. "Well, do not worry; it is not that day that I have designated the ball on."

"Ball?" America stammered for a moment. Russia narrowed his eyes in curiosity.

"Are you even familiar with a Masquerade Ball, Amerika?"

Once again, the blank stare was enough of an answer for the Russian and the nation couldn't help but chuckle and clap his hands much to the American's frustration.

"Ease yourself, Amerika. I will take care of you. All you have to do is trust me, da?"

America's lips quirked up slightly and for a short time before nodding his head and saying, "Da."

St. Petersburg, Russia. October 31st 1803

All Hallow's Eve

"Come out, Amerika. You cannot stay in there forever, it is not polite," Russia informed as he stood beside the changing room assigned to the young nation. The ball had already started and Russia had yet to go out beside his Emperor and greet their guests. That in itself was rude and a hosting nation should be among the first to greet the guests but he had decided to wait for the boy's finished costume.

"Are you sure it's alright that I wear this?" came America's voice from behind the door. He sounded uncertain and it was up to Russia to make him feel at ease and to coax him to come out and join the party.

"Da, now come out. I've invited friends of yours to this event," Russia replied knowing that the aspect of seeing friends and allies would prompt the American to come out and show himself.

"Really?" There was excitement and surprise in the boy's voice and the higher pitch Russia found cute and smiled at it. "I thought it was just a gathering for the royalty and nobility of your people."

"Nyet, it is a social gathering and the other nations are encouraged to attend. Now my parties may not be as grand as a nation like France's but it is decent and more than a few countries do attend, a few I'm sure you'll want to see," Russia informed.

That must have done it. He heard shuffling behind the door and faint words before the door opened and out came the dressers first. The two bowed to Russia before apologizing for the delay and then excusing themselves from his presence.

Turning and peeking inside the room Russia had been right when he knew he'd feel that pounding in his chest as he beheld the vision of the sun god, Apollo.

In Russian design of gold and fire the American was dressed in a fine masquerade outfit. The cuffs of the sleeves were loose and a tight white lace shirt lay underneath that hugged his wrists while the lapels of the coat jutted out to give his form the shape of a "V". White lace stockings were given with golden shoes and diamond buckles. On the breast of the coat held numerous gems, mostly rubies and diamonds to signify the sparkle of the fiery light in the sky.

America presented a golden mask attached to a slim rod that he held in his hand and would move it away if he wanted to view someone face-to-face. The mask was designed like that of the sun with swaying spikes jutting out on every side and of course diamonds pinned around the eyes and mouth.

Indeed he came off as a Russian ready for their All Hallow's Eve Ball and that is what Russia had wanted.

Standing there in awe and inwardly reminding himself to reward the dressers with a higher pay and to have them "mysteriously" lose America's clothing trunks so that they could replace them with Russian wear, Russia watched the American jot his head out of the mask's view. He smiled playfully before swaying the mask in his hand.

"How do I look?" He asked.

"Beautiful," Russia had wanted to say but he feared losing that smile to the confused frown America often wore and so said, "Like Apollo himself. I am certain you were once he in another life."

America waved off the flattery before touching the gems on his chest. "I still think the dressers overdressed me."

_They did exactly what I commanded them to do_, Russia inwardly informed. "Nonsense," he eased. "This is typical Russian wear and I would have you wear no less."

"If you say so," America said with a roll of his shoulders. Russia watched his eyes glance toward his own costume, himself being dressed as the Black Death. Something he was certain America hadn't known what exactly it was.

With a majority of black adorning his frame Russia made sure that silver rods be placed around his chest to resemble and signify ribs and that his mask pinned onto his face looked similar to a skull made of silver with gems around the empty eyes. Most curious were the rubies pinned in a heart shape in the center of his chest where the silver rods for ribs overlaid them. All in all Russia's costume was horrifyingly haunting and would no doubt invoke ancient grievous memories from the European countries already in attendance to the ball.

"Shall we go and see the others?" Russia asked, holding out his arm toward the boy.

America looked uncertain with what to do but Russia was patient and soon saw the boy understanding before reaching forward and taking his arm lightly, his fingers just brushing the sleeve of his coat. With the boy finally ready to join the others Russia, as the host, escorted his partner out.

With masks at the ready none were the wiser that the handsome young man holding Russia's arm as he was announced to the ball was the new country: the United States of America. Russia could see all of the countries and noticed that most invited had attended. He was glad because he wanted to show them all something.

"Amazing!" America gasped, letting go of Russia's arm as the people in costumes moved around them. Russia frowned from the lack of contact but let the boy venture out to see the other magnificent costumes.

Whilst the boy wandered off into the mass of the crowd Russia was engaged in frivolous chat with Austria who looked to be dressed as a champion horse of some sort. The costume mostly consisted of a royal violet and gold; interesting design though not as good as his own nor Ameri—where did that boy go?

Russia's keen ears caught the sound of a gasp from the boy in question. Turning Russia saw the child nation just a few crowds away. It wasn't hard to look for him since Russia had been a tall nation but he did frown upon seeing who the American was embracing.

It was Prussia. The German was dressed in dark green and violet. Perhaps he was trying to come off as some exotic bird but Russia found the costume lacking, especially that idiotic grin of his as he embraced the boy tight. The two looked like old friends as they clapped each other's backs and  
smiled fondly on.

He could even hear what they were speaking about.

"You came too?" America asked as his eyes brightened at the sight of the German state.

"Of course I did," Prussia exclaimed in that annoying accent of his. "I'm not on complete bad relations with Russia and who'd refuse a ball? But look at you! I didn't think I'd see you here in Europe so soon, and what's with that outfit?"

Russia narrowed his eyes as he watched Prussia grab a hold of America's hand and hold it high over his head to twirl him around to examine his costume. "You look so . . . Russian." Prussia had made it sound bad but in the end it was a joke as the two chuckled.

"I got into some serious trouble with him you see," America explained as Prussia let go of the boy and crossed his arms to stand and listen. "So to apologize I agreed to do whatever he said while I stayed with him."

"Whatever?" Prussia asked, his scarlet eyes widening before shaking his head. "Alfred, Alfred," Prussia had wrapped his arm around the boy's neck and held him closer as if informing some younger sibling of his. Why was he on the first name basis with the new country? "You don't agree to things like that—especially not with Russia."

"Why?" America asked quite innocently as he playfully shoved the albino off of him and dusted off his costume from the dark green feathers that fell from Prussia's costume onto his own.

"We're European," Prussia said, holding up a gloved finger to him to make a statement. "We could . . . do impolite things."

"Oh," America nodded but Russia wasn't quite sure if he knew what Prussia was suggesting. And how dare that state sway the boy away from him? He would never command America to do things he was suggesting other European countries do. Never.

And then Russia turned his eyes once more, the babbling Austria never in the least noticing he wasn't following their conversation. Hadn't been for a good long time. There came another country to stand next to Prussia. He was young and dressed in robes of silks of white with gold lining the hems as it draped over his shoulders and arms like some Roman toga, though underneath the robe was shined silver armor with intricate designs lain across the breastplate and shoulders down toward the gauntlets. The mask, a white and gold face with slanted eyes, was held on a black rod in the boy's hand.

The odd thing about him was that Russia had never felt his aura before. He was new, or, considering his height and age, had yet to be introduced to the rest of the world.

"Ah! Ludwig, you're here!" Prussia exclaimed. Clapping his hands onto the boy's shoulder Russia observed a slight annoyance from the lad who stood just an inch or two shorter than America. "Alfred, this is mein youngest bruder, Ludwig. Ludwig, this is Alfred F. Jones, the United States of America."

After the introduction from the albino, Russia watched the mask fall away and suddenly he felt a familiarity about the boy. His hair was bright blond, a lighter shade than America's but darker than his own ashen color, and his eyes were a lightning blue—most unattractive Russia thought; like the rest of the German family. Despite the instant dislike Russia couldn't seem to shake the fact that he had seen this child before, but a long time ago. Well there were a lot of countries that were born only to die and then another would be born that bared striking resemblance so it could be that. He decided not to dwell on that too long.

America had seemed friendly as usual and the two offered a polite bow before America said, "It's nice to meet you, Ludwig. By the way, are you a country? You feel—"

"One day soon. Right, Ludwig?" Prussia spoke up with a promising smile as he looked down at his little brother whose gaze seemed transfixed on the nation he had been introduced to. "I hope that the two of you would become friends when he does."

"We can be friends now. I see nothing wrong with that, right, Ludwig?" America smiled at the boy who offered a small smile of his own before he silently nodded.

"Well, I'll leave you two youngin's to get acquaint—oh! Hey, is that Austria?" Prussia had his eyes set on the man talking to Russia and Russia had to avert his gaze away so the state didn't know he had been watching them. "I'm going over there to taunt him. See you, West."

With that Russia heard the noisy German making his way through the crowd with many "Excuse me's" and "Pardon me's". Russia rolled his eyes before the man pushed himself through the wall of people and poked himself next to Austria.

"Hey, what are you—a sick mule?" Prussia asked and that had snapped the Austrian out of his rambling conversation with Russia. But ever so polite the German smiled kindly at Russia before saying, "Excuse me, I have to take this."

"Go right ahead," Russia said with a short smile before turning and walking off though not without hearing Austria's annoyed tone of voice as he said, "And what are you? A rooster with his wattle cut off?" Russia had just heard Prussia's dumbfounded response of, "What?" before he was out of earshot and searching for his American.

Turning toward the food tables Russia found him. With his golden mask now under his arm securely the boy was currently stacking a held silver platter with various types of foods while standing next to the new German brother who seemed to be caught in a light conversation with him.

That just would not do.

Making his way toward the food tables Russia past by the composer of the orchestra and said a quick, "Get ready to play a song," before walking on toward the American. When he got closer he heard the two chuckling from something the American said and right after that he heard this Ludwig say, "You're very nice, America. I like you."

That did it.

Reaching out Russia grabbed a hold of America's arm and pulled him back and away from the boy who looked on with wide eyes. The platter in America's hands dropped to the ground and the food fell all over the polished floor.

"Ah! Russia!" America gasped but before he could exclaim about the food and the mess Russia had pulled him close and said, "Play with me." That sentence in itself America had come to understand as the reminder that he offered to do anything the Russian wanted and when Russia would say the phrase, 'Play with me,' then America had to do just that.

Suddenly the violin strings were struck and the symbols chimed. The crowd parted and in danced the hosting nation with a beauty in his arms. For a few seconds America hadn't known what to do or what was transpiring. When he realized they were in a dance—no less the first dance of the ball always offered to a lucky one by the hosting nation—he stammered and looked up at Russia with confused eyes.

"Sh-Shouldn't you have picked a lady?" America asked as he tried to remember where to put his hands if he were the led one in the dance instead of the one leading.

"I am the hosting country—I can pick whoever I want," Russia replied with a smile at the boy and in that Russia's heart jumped and twirled inside him upon seeing a light dust of pink on the boy's golden tan skin. Was it from embarrassment or something else? Whatever it was gave Russia's feet lighter steps and it wasn't long before he was gliding across the dance floor, spinning both of them around the borders of the encircling crowd.

That was right; he was showing the boy in his arms off. He was his partner for the evening. He was the one whom he had chosen for the first dance of the ball. He was the one selected to be adorned in fine silks and jewelry. He was the one Russia wanted to stand beside him.

When the song ended the two bowed to each other and Russia saw that innocent shy smile of America's and even the faint blush on his cheeks remained. Russia adored the look and wondered what other facial expressions he could squeeze out of him. Now he yearned to see them and more than once in a minute Russia had to calm himself and to remain proper—for both their sakes.

"Amérique, Is that you?"

Russia watched America quickly shoot his mask before his face as none other than France came up to them, a smile on his lips as his eyes were on the boy. He was wearing something akin to an Indian-styled costume in colors of light blue. The turban on his head looked ridiculous and reminded Russia a little too much of that bastard to his south but any resemblance made by France he knew was unintentional, after all, this was a time to be someone or something you were not.

"Ah, it _tis_ little Amérique! I had not known you came all this way to attend," France rambled as he touched America's shoulder and swatted the boy's mask away from his face only to see the new nation's frustrated and none-too-happy expression. France seemed to pay no mind as usual and it was then Russia realized that the boy had still been upset over their short little war that had supposedly ended only three years ago.

It was a funny thing how America's friends could turn so quickly into his enemies, but alas Russia had warned him. Though, those who seemed to stay true to him the boy stuck to like glue and made all sorts of treaties that Russia wasn't too inclined to liking.

Wrapping his arm around the boy's neck France leaned against the sturdy country and continued his rambling. Russia frowned as America looked toward him, his eyes pleading help. Russia about grabbed the Frenchman and threw him off the balcony had not he said something to America that made the boy freeze.

"You know Angleterre is here," France said, his eyes shifting through the crowd before widening. "Oh, oh no, here he comes."

"Shit!" America cursed, pushing France off of him and pushing the mask to his face as he tried to make his way through the crowd as he heard someone behind already doing the same.

"America!"

The boy froze. Russia had wanted to divert the child but it was not a good time. Most of the guests had stopped and parted way so that a line of sight could be met. Now all ears in the ballroom were on the two who had had harsh relations lately.

There he was, England, dressed in a red costume liken to a jester though his ivory mask held that of a frown, something representing turmoil for those who posed as the usually grinning jokester. Pulling his ivory mask and red cap off of his head, England pushed back his blond locks to make sure no lock of bang strayed America from his vision. With green eyes wide and lips parted the Brit had actually made an attempt for a conversation.

"I . . . I saw you, with Russia that is. I didn't think that you'd . . . what are you doing here, lad?" England offered a light smile but America had yet to turn toward him or to drop his mask to show everyone in the ballroom his unpleasant frown.

Russia knew he should have interjected right then and there to stop the empire from pressing on still healing wounds, but Russia remained silent. He wanted to show America off to England the most. He had wanted the parent country to see his child in the arms of another nation, in clothes akin to his fashion, smiling and loving his freedom like he said he would. But it seemed America had not been ready—nor had England.

"You look . . . healthy. You've grown a few hands haven't you? I can already see you've passed me," England said and his smile quivered though all could see that he tried to hide the past sadness. How England hid it to himself ended up cutting something that Russia shouldn't have allowed cut. "I wanted you to know that you have a little brother."

Russia watched America's shoulders stiffen. Slowly, the boy turned, his mask still held tight against his face but at least he was now facing his ex-ruler.

"His name's Australia. Already fifteen years now," England said with a smile that seemed too forced. When America brought his mask down and revealed his displeased look England faltered but continued when he shouldn't have. "He's a little rowdy—much less polite than you were at his age, but he's a good lad."

There was nothing but silence from the American.

"I just . . . thought you'd want to know. I know you always hated being an only child," England said as if offering a smile for appeasement.

When America's eyes met England's gaze it was intense and daunting. Everyone witnessing the stare down leaned on their toes in anticipation as to what was to transpire next. Breaths were held and eyes strained. What happened next Russia had foreseen.

"Does he even know I exist?" America asked, his tone flat and demanded.

"What?" England blinked in confusion. Apparently he hadn't been prepared to answer that question.

"You inform me that I now officially have a younger sibling, but won't let the child know he's not an only child? Figures." America's brows knit together from long frustration. "Don't want him getting any ideas? Don't want him following in his big brother's footsteps? Well keep his leash tight this time would you."

"Alfred," England said, reaching his hand out but America had been so upset that he tossed his mask to the ground, the face cracking at the eyes and the gems pinned upon it slid across the floor hitting heels and buckles.

"It's the United States of America!" America corrected as his entire body shook. His eyes narrowed and fists clenched and shaking. "No more 'Alfred' and no more 'America'. You swore you'd recognize me as an equal, as free and yet here you are; talking to me like I'm still your child. I'm not Alfred Kirkland any longer. I'm Alfred F. Jones. Alfred F. Jones! And you . . . you're a sick control freak. You can't last more than a few years before going off and creating another colony just to have someone under your command. Well I feel sorry for this Australia now that he has to deal with you."

Without another word America turned on his heel and left. He pushed through the audience and headed out toward the balcony; for fresh air no doubt. Russia turned toward England who had cast his face down in gloom. He had sworn he heard him whisper, "It's not like that, Alfred," but he couldn't be too sure and so he raised his hands and clapped.

"What a wonderful reunion," Russia said with that taunting smile. "I would say those weren't the best words to start up a conversation with young Amerika though."

"Shut up, Russia," England bit back, his eyes narrowing at him. "I just wanted him to know about Australia. I hadn't meant it to sound the way it did."

"Then how did you mean for it to sound? Please, do tell, I am very curious," Russia pressed. "Because to everyone here it sounded like you've created a substitute for your lost colony."

"He's not a substitute," England shot back. "I just wanted Alfred to know he's finally the big brother he always wanted to be. I wanted him to never forget where he came from, who his family is. But now lately it's all been one thing after another. He's changed his name, I'm not allowed to even speak to him in any sense like I used to. It's almost more than I can bear."

This is why children were a waste of time in Russia's eyes. They are born, you spend money and resource to keep them healthy—if you can—then you watch them grow until they're too big enough for even you. In the end they declare themselves a full-blooded country and that you see them like that even if they have to change their name and forget their parent nation for you to see them as such. He could tell England was upset but he honestly believed he needed to forget about the past losses and focus on raising his new little one. From what he heard it sounded like he had his hands full, so why bother hanging onto something that was no longer his?

Russia would never understand and he was grateful. England's gone through Hell and back and would continue to do so if he wouldn't forget. But he had no one to blame but himself and it was because of that fact that no one offered him any shoulder to cry on. It was survival of the fittest and if England wanted to cry then he could leave.

With his attention feigning from England, Russia realized America was still probably outside on the balcony where a chill began to creep into the air. With a lingering glance toward England who looked like he was preparing to leave the ball prematurely, Russia dismissed himself and sought out the former-colony.

There he was, on the balcony. Of course he hadn't been alone.

Russia narrowed his eyes at the new younger brother of Prussia. The boy had leaned against the railing next to the ex-colony and looked to be conversing with him in a comforting manner. In an angry motion, Russia ripped a coat out of one of an awaiting servant's hands and marched up to the two, draping the dark coat over America's shoulders he had been previously rubbing for warmth. The two turned to him and Russia found it very upsetting how the young German boy looked him in the eye like he was a force to be taken seriously.

"You can leave now, German," Russia stated, jutting his head back toward the ballroom. "I thank-you for keeping Amerika company but your presence is no longer required now that I am here."

"Why don't you let Alfred decide who he wants to be with?" the boy suggested, crossing his arms and emitting a threatening aura off that made Russia want to laugh and puke in disgust at the same time.

"Oh, no, Russia, Ludwig wasn't stepping over any boundary. He was just being friendly, that's all," America defended, touching and tugging on Russia's black silver-lined sleeve.

"What's going on?"

Out came Prussia and Russia had to refuse to let his body make an eye-rolling motion as the state came into their presence.

"I can hear you all the way inside," Prussia said before looking at the two boys with a smile and then pushing them back into the ballroom. "Why don't you two get me some pastillas, _lots_ of them. Those things are good!"

The two looked slightly confused before taking the chance to leave and head toward the tables of food.

"Wow, look at them. Can't believe Alfred's grown that big, and look, Ludwig is catching up. Did you know he's actually older tha—!"

Russia had grabbed the vest of the Prussian and turned, slamming him against the railing of the balcony and nearly bending him in a half over it.

"What the hell? !" Prussia's wide red eyes were full of shock and surprise.

"Keep your brother away from Amerika, do you hear me?" Russia threatened with a relatively harsh shake.

"W-What, why . . . are you courting him?" Prussia asked, though no more fear sweated out of his face this time the Prussian leaned closer in challenge and demand as if he were the threatening one.

"Da," Russia answered with another shake. "He is mine and has been promised to me by the General himself."

"The General?" Prussia asked before after a few seconds his eyes blinked in remembrance. "He what? !"

Russia pulled the Prussian off the balcony's ledge and dropped him. The albino was quick in recovery and despite the light snow on his outfit he neglected to wipe himself off as he stood his ground against the larger nation who had his back turned to him, watching the young boys gather pastries and fruit.

"What did that ghost do? He's got no more power," Prussia insisted.

"But he does," Russia said as he turned to him, his eyes traveling up into the snow clouds above head. "He'll be bringing a storm this night. I suggest you not travel home if you know what's best."

"You're delusional, you know that? You always have been!" Prussia spat, shaking his head at him before pointing back into the ballroom where the boys were. "That boy is not to be touched. If you touch him I swear to God I'll cut you in half."

"Is that a declaration of war?" Russia asked, narrowing his eyes at the Albino who seemed unmoving.

"It could be," Prussia explained. "But for now, let's just call it a threat. That boy's been through a lot, more so than a child should go through. I swore when I was helping him learn how to stand in damn Georgian lines that I'd watch over him."

"He's not your little brother. There is no need to keep eyes on him," Russia said. "Free from his father he is free to the world—to trade, to touch, to wage war, whatever we want."

"He's too young," Prussia protested. "Less than half your age. You've mistaken your so-called 'promised one' for another. Keep your eyes away from Alfred."

"You keep your brother away from him then I might reconsider," Russia said, crossing his arms and standing his own ground. "Now, I have been a generous host. I've invited all of Europe to this event, enemy and all. I had not invited your brother though invitation was open but I can change my mind and decide to send the both of you on your way and see how you deal with the General this night."

"Hah, generous," Prussia mocked but he seemed to refuse himself from backing down from Russia. Turning back to him he stared him down before the snow began to fall at a steady pace. Glancing up Prussia shivered before glaring at Russia once more and then leaving the balcony to enter back into the ballroom.

"Here you go, Gilbert," America said with a welcoming smile as he offered the platter of pastries full of cream and fruits to the man.

"Thanks but it's getting late. We've got to go," Prussia said taking, his brother's arm but the boy merely shook him off.

"Late?" Ludwig asked, eyeing his brother curiously before turning his eyes back out onto the dark balcony where a lone figure stood. "I don't want to return home now."

"Well that's too bad because it's past your bedtime," Prussia said as he took a hold of Ludwig's wrist and about dragged him to his side. "Sorry for all of this, Alfred. It really was good to see you again. Be sure to stop by again on your way home when you go."

"I will," America said while eyeing Prussia's strange behavior closely.

"Take care," Prussia said as he opened his arm and reached out to press the palm of his hand against America's head to pull him into a close hug and then whisper to him, "Take the pistol out of my vest and keep it in yours. Do as I say. I don't trust the countries here."

America looked up at him with a raised brow before doing as he was told and when they pulled apart nothing looked out of place. Prussia smiled and ruffled the boy's hair before turning to his brother who pouted at their early departure and so he ruffled his straight locks as well and upset his brother enough for a few veins to burst on his forehead.

"Stop it with that face, we'll see him again. If you hadn't been out hunting earlier then you would have seen him when he stopped by last month," Prussia reasoned to the upset boy.

"Promise you'll stop by, Alfred." Ludwig looked expectant and Alfred only smiled and nodded. "I will, don't worry. It was a pleasure to meet you, Ludwig. It really was."

"And you as well," Ludwig said with a smile before the tug on his sleeve signaled his brother was leaving.

And so the Germans left and Alfred couldn't understand why before turning to glance out at the balcony and realize it had started snowing. He nodded and understood that they hadn't wanted to get caught up in the storm, though he knew Russia had plenty of room spare if they needed shelter for the night, so why . . .?

"Russia? Don't you want to come inside?" America asked as he walked out on the balcony to see the Russian leaning against the railing and gazing out into the dark coldness. "You're going to become a snowman."

"Hm?" Russia turned to him with a sigh and America merely shook his head and made a place next to the larger country, staring out into the darkness with him. "Never mind," America said.

The two had stood there for time passed that no one kept track on. It was America who eventually broke the silence as he spoke, saying, "This is one reason why I don't attend these things. It's just too overwhelming." Leaning down on his arms, America let out a sad sigh and gazed out into the darkness, the snowfall turning the night blue and hauntingly beautiful.

"This is the world you fought so desperately to break into isn't it?" Russia asked, his own eyes only glancing once toward the boy next to him before gazing out into the night and often wondering if he spied the General floating around above, watching them, laughing at him.

"I didn't think it was," America said, shaking his head and wrapping the heavy coat around his shoulders tighter. "The world I fought to be free in was a world where the sun never set. The grass was always so green. The waters so clear. The skies endless and the clouds formed into fun shapes, perfect for sitting down and staring at. And then fields full of tall and bright sunflowers."

"Sunflowers?" Russia questioned. He had surely thought America might refer a different flower to his paradise, ones more common like the fragrant carnation or the beautiful rose.

"Yeah," America said with a nod and that bright smile was once again on his lips as he turned to Russia with even brighter eyes. "Have you seen one before? They are beautiful and remind me so much of the sunny days."

"Da," Russia replied. But he had never thought of them so homey before. He mostly used them for oil, especially during Lent. He never once had gotten the chance to see them in the beauty of bloom. He wondered if he'd like the sight as much as America apparently did. "Sunny days, hm?"

"What's your paradise, Russia?" America asked.

There he went again, asking _him_ what _he_ thought, as if he had a mind of his own.

Thinking about it though, Russia frowned. After coming to the realization that he had no concept what a paradise was and therefore neglected in dreaming of one he felt . . . sad. Looking at America he saw the boy looking right through him.

"You've never . . . thought of one?" America asked, shock in his tone of voice as well as his gaze of eyes.

"Nyet," Russia admitted finding himself now to be the one to turn his gaze away as if he bore some shame. "I've been too busy to dream up some fantasy."

Russia felt his heart throw itself against his chest at the feel of America's hand touching his own that grasp tightly onto the balcony railing. In that moment he had wished he hadn't adorned black gloves so that he could feel the boy's skin which he imagined so soft for one so young.

"You're not now," America reminded and smiled sweetly up at the taller nation and gently nudged him to get his point across.

"Da, you are right," Russia said knowing he wouldn't be able to deny that face if America kept looking at him like that. "Well if you wish me to imagine something I'm afraid my childhood years have ruined a good scene so if you would mind I stay a little in your paradise."

"Of course," America said, his smile widening and Russia felt the need to stroke his cheek and he did.

"Ah . . . Russia?" America blinked up at him in confusion while Russia felt his body move on its own as his hands raised and touched the American's jaw. He had been right, it was squaring nicely and that baby fat was going away. He was growing up so fast—too fast.

"The costume is very befitting of you, Amerika. Just like your paradise of sun filled flower-valleys." Russia stated and it was then he could have sworn he saw that light-pink color dust America's cheeks again but it could be shadows from the lights from the ballroom inside. He was never sure. But his heart quickened nonetheless.

"You've said that before," America noted, offering a shy smile and oddly enough he didn't pull back. Did the boy not know? Could he not feel it? Was America so innocent to the vile thoughts of the nation with him? Could he not feel his want in those touches? Why wasn't he running away like he was supposed to? They always did. Every one of them.

If he didn't run away then Russia would want him to stay and then when he'd have to leave Russia would die.

"Are you cold?" Russia asked through his daze even though he saw no signs of the boy shivering. The question was unnecessary because as Russia pulled him close to his chest he could feel the heat radiating off of him, like the sun itself.

America was silent and still, his face turned up toward Russia and his eyes shining bright in its gaze that Russia couldn't place an emotion on. Because of the silence Russia held him tighter using the excuse of trying to warm the boy when in reality they both could just head back inside to the fires but neither did, they both stayed out on the balcony bewitched by some kind of spell in the other's gaze and it was then Russia knew it was the General. He was giving him a chance to touch the boy so intimately and hold him against him.

Well, if that were the case then Russia wondered if the boy's heart was pounding underneath his ribs like his own was. So his hand slowly fell from America's jaw and down his neck before pressing against his chest and feeling –

Russia broke out of his daze and the moment he shoved his arm down the boy's golden vest America seemed to awake to the world around him as well.

"H-Hey!" America gasped and before he could push Russia away the large nation pulled the pistol out and held it in his hand.

"I did not know you carry weapons to formal gathering, Amerika," Russia tried to be playful with the child to make sure he wouldn't notice his anger at the find but all of his playful tone was gone and his eyes narrowed into harsh glares. "How impolite."

"No, it's not meant to offend," America tried but he could sense how upset Russia was and so stepped back as the chilled winds picked up. Russia could tell he wanted to go back inside to the others but he stayed where he was to confront the problem. How grown-up of him to do so.

As Russia stared the boy down for answers he finally caved under his glare.

"Gilbert gave it to me," America admitted, looking downward.

"Prussia?" Russia might have known.

With trembling limbs Russia's fists clenched and he turned and threw the pistol over the balcony.

"Ah!" America gasped as he leaned over and watched the flying pistol descend into the darkness of the night, never to be seen again.

"Oops, looks like I dropped it," Russia joked bitterly. When he turned back to America he asked, "Why did he give it to you?"

"He . . . he said he didn't trust the others," America informed with slumped shoulders. "Look, Russia, I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean to offend or anything. I don't think Gilbert did either. You know I had issues with France previously, I think he was making sure he never touched me again."

Never touched him again. Russia inwardly chuckled. Hell, he would have just shot the damn frog if America asked him to. After touching America inappropriately and learning about the conflict America had started over the offense, Russia was ready to just march west to France's home and castrate him. He had been that upset.

But now, he was more so upset that Prussia of all had, 1. Brought a firearm to his masquerade ball when the things were prohibited and considered offensive if brought. 2. Leant it to the American for protection, and 3. Knowing that the Prussian meant protection against him. As if he were the one to threaten America the most!

Looking at America trying to defend the German state Russia realized that even the new country hadn't known which nation Prussia had been speaking of. Always the naïve one; that America.

"Perhaps you should return home, Amerika, since you clearly can't defend yourself from corrupt nations," Russia said as he turned his back toward the American.

"I can defend myself just fine!" America shot back. "He wasn't offering help but warning me as a friend."

"Friend?" Russia questioned as he turned toward America and leaned down a little to make it seem as if he were talking to a babe who didn't understand a thing in the world. "You do realize calling another nation by a human name is considered intimate and so therefore it is usually restricted to allies, on the other hand equal partners."

"But we are," America explained. "We've both come to an agreement, Russia."

Russia was then to witness America's face growing red out of frustration as he turned and kicked over a potted fern sitting near. "Damn it, he was one of the first to recognize me! He helped me fight England. And after it was all over he didn't just abandon me to simple trading negotiations. He wanted to visit; he wanted me to be welcomed in his home and by his leaders and people. He treated me like a country and that is why I wanted to be close to him. And I swear I won't let even you push me away from him."

Well, Russia hadn't expected to get threatened by the boy. But he supposed he had it coming after learning of Prussia and America's bond. After a while Russia began realizing Prussia most likely saw the child liken to another little brother. He was never one for romance or attraction.

"Well, then why don't you return to him?" Russia asked. He hated to give the American permission to go into the arms of another, but if the boy wanted it that bad then who was he to stop him?

"Because I came here at a friend's request," America said, once again coming closer as his courage gathered up. "I promised him I'd make it up to him for being late. I really am sorry for that, honestly. And if you would let me ask a question I'd like to know something that has been eating away at me since your recognition of me."

"What is it?" Russia nearly closed his ears to America's pointless questions but they only perked as the boy asked,

"Why don't you call me by my name?"

"I assumed that was reserved for close friends," Russia said as he gazed at the boy who was smiling at him while shaking his head and taking his hand, still clenched into a fist, in his own and opening his palm to rub the cold fingers.

"I thought we had been just that for a long time," America reasoned and with that smile Russia found himself smiling along with him.

"Da, Alfred." The name sounded good on his tongue and the happy smile he got from the boy made him make sure he'd call him by that name more often.

America then glanced down and then back up to the Russian before glancing down again. Russia had seen this before. He was trying to ask him something he was unsure of so he'd sigh and just force him to say it.

"What do you want to ask now, Alfred?" Russia asked and that same smile appeared as he used America's human name.

"I was wondering, I don't mean to be offensive or anything, but . . . could I . . . will you . . . can I call you by your human name?"

No one asks such a thing. The privilege is usually given when the nation decides their close friend is close enough in a manner they want and deserving of the title. But America was always full of questions and he knew the child could take a "no" for the answer but he didn't feel like telling him that. Instead, Russia smiled kindly and decided to ease himself with the different approach of confiscating his name.

"Before you leave, I will give it to you," Russia announced as he grabbed America's hand in his own and led him back inside. "Now come, return inside with me. I want to play some more."

Russia had always been good on his word. Sure enough he told the young nation right before he and his men departed. It seemed that America had forgotten all about it as Russia leaned up on the carriage the boy was seated in and leaned against the window, pulling the boy's head close so that his ear touched his lips.

"Ivan," Russia informed the name given him by none other than the man who unified him and his people. With that he pulled back and motioned for the driver to pull the carriage away. He smiled as he watched America pop his head and shoulders out of the carriage window and stare back at him in disbelief before he smiled and melted Russia's heart.

As the carriage vanished in the distance Russia wondered when he would inform the young nation of his want to court. It is true he had already been doing it in secret. He was honestly surprised he waited this long and now he was glad because the boy was growing into something that wouldn't break under him but stand strong next to him.

"I shall sacrifice tens of thousands of lives to you, General Winter, if you would only bring him back to me," Russia swore as he continued to gaze in the direction where the carriage carrying away the love of his life had faded from sight. "Promise me you'll watch over him when I cannot and to sway his heart toward me when we are together. If you do I will give you everything."

Russia was always good on his word.

* * *

**Daughter Of The Revolution:**** Well, there was your long chapter that I stayed up too late writing ;D As you can tell I've watched a little too much Phantom of the Opera :P. Well, the 19th century is underway and fyi that century is when America and Russia become quite close (not just in this story but historically as well).**

**History time!**

**October 28th 1803 (twenty years after the official end of the American Revolution) the Russians finally recognize the ex-colonies as a nation. Yays for relationship progress :D**

**When America was confused about Russia mentioning All Saint's Day it was because of America's Protestantism. Catholics and Protestants disliked each other so much that when a Holy Day [Holiday] came along the Protestants wouldn't observe it like the Catholics because they considered the day not really sacred but "catholic" so America wouldn't know too much about it seeing how he was a majority Protestant at the time.**

**The reasons for the tensions between France and America is because of past grievances. There was the XYZ Affair (that was France touching America inappropriately) and because of that little rude gesture came the Quasi-War with America and France. Later they signed treaties of peace but I think were still annoyed by that past issue.**

**America and England are on trading terms just not so much talking terms. They are tense about this time [1803] even though the Jay Treaty is still in effect. This later escalates into the War of 1812 with the President of the United States refusing to renew the Jay Treaty in 1805 because of tension between the two counties.**

**England literally created a colony right after they lost the 13 Colonies. I guess they wanted one right away to the point that they put all the criminals together on some continent and called it a Colony. Yep, that's little Australia. Born in 1788, five years after losing America. And in all honesty England in this chapter wasn't bragging about having another child. He was trying to be friendly but it came out wrong. It always does with him when he tries talking to America, which later results into a . . . well . . . war. :/**

**The reason for America defending Prussia is because the two were good friends at the time with their Treaty of Amity and Commerce officially on it's second run-through. A part of it also comes from the Prussian General, Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben, who whipped the Continental Army into shape for official battle against the British Empire. So America has a lot to thank him for, that and relations never soured as quickly between the two like they did with England and France and the two continue with their friendship throughout the coming century.**

**[Le Gasp!] Russia doesn't love his Sunflowers yet? Well the Sunflowers are relatively new and were first discovered and domesticated in the Americas. The Europeans used them mostly for oil as did Russia at the time. So he didn't start thinking of the flower as a pretty decoration full of fragrance until later [possibly thanks to sunny America?].**

**And~**

**Yes, that's right! I made it to where Russia's paradise was originally America's. Partly because of his view on the sunflowers and close attachment to General Winter (Let's face it, if he lost that ghost then he'd probably get his butt conquered with no more blizzards to protect him) and then partly because I found it incredibly cute and sweet. :)**

**Also, if anyone's wondering where Russia's sisters are ('cause come on, how could Russia throw a party without inviting his siblings, right?) well they weren't invited. In fact Russia forbids them from coming to a social gathering because they're "weird" and if they are there he can't socialize like he's supposed to, especially not with his little sister clinging off of him. And of course they can't be around young America, not when he's trying to woo him. Imagine what Belarus would do to the poor boy if she knew (o.O)**

**There you have it, lovelies! Hope you enjoyed and leave a comment. I love hearing from you all! Until next chapter.**


	6. Relations

1812

He wasn't too certain how it happened but he honestly didn't care for details. All Russia knew is that England and young America were once again at war. There were rumors going around Europe among nations and nobility, saying that England was trying to take back his former colony.

Of course the sheer thought of the rumor upset many a nation, especially Russia. Yet he had not the chance to ask England on this suspicious and impolite idea. The Brit had been away at sea for a while, combating America's small Navy which seemed to stand its own well against England's hundreds of ships.

Either that boy was as skilled as he said he was in the ways of tactical warfare or he was just flat-out lucky. But he was Russia's to-be so he expected nothing less from the nation.

The Napoleonic Wars possibly paved some sort of protection for the boy. Europe was in chaos and Russia in a dilemma. He wanted to see that face of sunshine again, but after years of turmoil between the nations he refused any visits. America had wanted to come and see his friends but Russia warned it too dangerous. France, on the other hand, had become someone completely different and it was hard for anyone to deal with.

Lately, since Russia had become an ally of England to put an end to France, Russia's heard word of America's support for France. Indirectly he supposed seeing how he had close trade with France. When England made it so that the young nation couldn't supply their enemy by blockading that had been when America was forced to become violent.

Even the nation's fellow colony, Canada, suffered because of the Brit's ignorance. It was because of this America tried to coerce the older neighboring colony to break away from England's control and that had been when England became violent.

Paris, France. September 23rd 1814

After a long delay, England finally managed to make his way to Paris where Russia, Austria, and Prussia had already taken care of France and his "Emperor." He looked quite pleased as Russia held up the key to the city and when he took a seat Russia heard that relaxed sigh leave his lips.

"So glad you could finally join us," Russia said with a smile as he sat down in the chair opposite of England.

"I would have come sooner," England explained an honest manner. "But the ships were all in a jumble. Had to straighten them out a bit."

Russia had received a letter. He knew exactly where England had been and what he had been doing.

"You have my deepest thanks for taking the responsibility of taking lead of the siege," England exalted as he looked toward Russia who hadn't exactly been making eye contact. "I heard France put up a fight."

"Da, he did," Russia. "But we crushed him without your help. By the way, I've been meaning to ask you . . . ." Raising his hand Russia pointed under his own eye to signal England's state of appearance. "Where did you get that bruise?"

Sure enough England was sporting a lovely black eye. It was in the stages of healing but still quite noticeable and Russia was honestly surprised he came out in public like that. The Englishman was always so concerned about his appearance before the other nations.

Russia watched England raise his hand and let the tips of his fingers brush over the purple skin. He thought he saw England flinch, but perhaps it was just his imagination. England on the other hand seemed reluctant to speak of it.

"Just something fancy I picked up while in a scuffle with one of France's privateers," England gave.

"You were always the best at fighting those off," Russia offered his compliment though it was one of honest fakeness. "After these wars I should hope Europe to feel peace once again."

"What little we have is always nice," England said with a dreadfully pleasant smile.

"I hope the war has not reached the western hemisphere. Come to think of it, I hadn't gotten too much trade from Amerika lately," Russia commented as if in thought before putting on his facading smile before the British Empire. "You've been there, da? Is everything well?"

"Uh, yes, everything is just fine," England said, looking away from the Russian and thusly letting him know his horrid tales were nothing but the lies he suspected them to be.

"How fairs little Australia? I heard he was getting big lately." Small talk was always most fun before landing down the truth in the lies.

"Yes, he is," England said with a sweet smile at the mention of his second child. "He's still taking his time in growing, which I don't mind. America grew up so fast that I hardly had time to enjoy his childhood. Australia, on the other hand, is set at a steady pace like I expected him to be. The boy does fancy snakes and lizards though; such ghastly things down there."

Russia humored England with chuckle in sync at the thought. "What of young Canada?" Russia asked knowing that if he mentioned that particular colony, the mention of the western hemisphere would disrupt England's thoughts.

Just as he expected England stammered. His eyes not meeting his.

"The boy's steady as well. He's been latching onto me lately, but that's quite alright," England explained.

"Is that so?" Russia asked before pulling out a letter from his pocket and setting it down on a small table next to him. "I heard that he was starving—that _you_ were starving him."

Russia watched in fun delight as England narrowed his eyes at the letter. He knew those sharp green eyes caught sight of the addressee. The moment those hues darkened and England's persona became more rigid was when Russia knew he caught him.

"Is that letter from America?" England asked. His back straightened and his limbs tensed. He looked ready for a fight and Russia found it humorous at the thought of official allies fighting. What would the nobility say?

"Da," Russia answered truthfully as he opened it and showed the man the handwriting that belonged to his former colony. No doubt it had been England who taught the boy to write like that; very nice calligraphy. "I received this just two days ago. I had always been curious about why my trading ships were scarce and asked little Amerika for the reason in a letter. He finally wrote me back after two years of questions. And he told me everything. I like that about young nations—they're always so honest in the beginning."

"Did he tell you he was trying to get Canada to turn against me too?" England stated the question with a frown and sheer dislike for the nation's actions written all over his grim face. "Said he wants me out of the hemisphere."

"I can understand that," Russia said with a chuckle. "But does that give you an excuse to starve your own colony?"

"He's not my colony anymore," England snapped, turning his gaze toward the happenings outside the window nearest them.

"I wasn't referring to Amerika," Russia stated. When England's eyes widened and turned back to Russia the nation raised his brow. "He told me you wouldn't let him feed his brother. Over diplomatic and political issues? How cruel, England."

"He invaded!" England pointed to make his point and shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Russia wondered what other details he could squeeze out of the nation. It was simply amazing how one's anger could force them to spit out all sorts of tales and stories never before heard. "I told him to stay away from Canada and he didn't listen. He said it was rightfully his land that he won back in his revolution. That is bullshit!"

"So to protect him, you starve him?" Russia asked.

"He's not your damn colony so you have no right to tell me what I can or cannot do to what is mine!" England informed with a shake of his head.

"If you wish to smother the babe with his own pillow then be my guest. He is your colony. But I cannot have you do the same to little Amerika," Russia informed. "He is my close trading partner and I would wish you leave him alone."

"If you're so close then why don't you fight alongside him, hm?" England asked, raising his brow in wait. That snob persona had returned and Russia wondered when that had happened. He'd have to find a way to push him back down.

"I'm considering it," Russia said as he looked back down at the letter. "Especially after you burnt his home down. How upsetting. Where now shall he live?"

England gapped. Russia smiled. He guessed the man hadn't known he knew about that little detail.

"So impolite for a gentleman," Russia chided and it was then he watched England's face go red.

"He thinks it's some kind of a game!" England shouted. The Brit looked like he was tired of defending his actions against the new ambitious nation.

Even as Russia was stared down by the empire Russia kept his smile. He was hard to break, especially when his hand was forced. That was right, England's forced his hand. Russia could feel the tears in that letter. The words seemed too hastily scribbled down, the ink bore smudges of palms and fingerprints belonging to the boy, the aroma of the paper itself smelt of charred plaster. It all bore the American's heart as he honestly explained to Russia what had happened and why.

"Apparently so do you in responding to his challenge," Russia said, his smile never faltering but it had morphed into something more sinister than mischievous.

Leaning closer Russia opened his violet eyes and through sheer gaze offered the empire a challenge of his own.

"Since you're so fond of playing games, how about you and I play one of our own?"

It was more of a statement than a question and as Russia leaned back in his chair he reveled in England's look of upset anger.

St. Petersburg. May 19th 1815

"You want your damn compensation?" England quite quickly snatched his purse into his hands and just tossed it onto the table, the golden coins rolling out in every direction. "There!"

After that he stomped out of the room. Russia let out a sigh and turned his gaze toward to the young ex-colony who had stood his ground against England's flare of anger of frustration. When the empire had officially left and you could no longer hear his boots stamping upon the floor outside America quietly took up the purse and began gathering the coins negotiated to him thanks to Russia.

Reaching out Russia took hold of America's wrist to stop him from a task that needn't be done at the moment.

"You can let the servants clean this up. Don't worry; they won't steal what's yours."

Just as soon as Russia finished his sentence he watched the boy flinch. Looking down Russia realized it was because of his grip on his wrist. He hadn't touched him too rough, in fact it was a mere brush of fingers he would say but the boy showed a sign of pain and because of that he pulled his hand back and looked down at the boy's shaking gloved fingers.

"Take off your gloves, Amerika," Russia commanded softly, but when the boy looked reluctant he narrowed his eyes and tried once more. "Alfred, listen to me. It is the least you can do after I arbitrated for you."

Still the blond was silent but Russia heard his sigh escape out through his nostrils before pulling at the fingers of his white gloves. One by one they came off before one hand was revealed while it worked on the other glove. Russia's eyes narrowed at the sight of burned flesh. When he watched America struggling with his second glove Russia stood and came to the boy. He stopped him and then silently offered his help.

Taking his hands in his, Russia tenderly took off the remaining glove while paying close attention to America's face for sign of discomfort. When his hands were barren of any covering Russia examined them and noticed how little they had seemed to have healed since he had heard about the burning of Washington D.C. He had thought that they'd . . .

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" Russia inquired as his thumbs softly skimmed over the blisters.

"Because it's nothing to worry about," America informed but Russia thought differently.

"You told me you watched him burn down your home from afar," Russia said, remembering the details of his letter written to him the previous year.

"I did," America answered honestly as he watched Russia's large fingers map the wounds on his hands that still stung to the slightest touch. "But that was after I escaped the building already set on fire."

"You're very foolish, you know that?" Russia reprimanded as he let go of the boy's hand and then turned back toward his desk only to take out a letter and begin to write something down.

"What are you doing?" America asked as he tried his best to look to see what Russia was writing only to realize his Russian wasn't as good as he thought.

"I'm sending an order to my royal physician," Russia replied as he curved the quill in a manner to let the American know he was signing his signature. "He's going to take a look at your hands and you're going to see him."

"I don't need that. I need to return home as soon as possible," America informed shaking his head in refusal.

"Is this the only excuse you have now to come to Europe?" Russia asked as he looked at the boy who honestly looked like he just wanted to leave. He may have been able to hide his wounds underneath fabric unlike England, but at least the empire would allow himself time to socialize with the rest of the nations, be them enemies or not.

"My capital was just burnt down, Ivan. My people need this money to help with the reconstruction," America insisted.

Russia knew that. But could anyone blame him for wanting to keep the boy for a little longer? He hadn't seen him since 1803 and he had worried that their relationship had grown too distant.

Russia let out a sigh and sat himself down at his desk. Weighing his options he knew he didn't have much to choose from. The aftermath of war was always so costly and time-consuming. He should know.

"Very well," Russia said, letting out a sad sigh and wondering if America could feel his longing for him. "But promise me you'll see the physician. He is good."

"I can't stay long," America once again informed.

"Da, I know," Russia said. "I have business in Paris and would ask if you would accompany me. I will take you to port but am in need of company for the journey."

America smiled. Albeit it was a weary smile but he smiled kindly. It was a yes.

The carriage ride was pleasant and strangely quiet, but Russia didn't mind as long as the boy was in his presence. He slept a majority of the way which happened to be against Russia's side with his golden head on his shoulder. This offered a chance for Russia to examine those shiny locks and feel their texture as akin to silk and often times Russia had to stop himself for fear of confusing the boy when he awoke. But he realized he could run his fingers through the child's hair for eternity if he was given that one sentence.

He slept soundly for the most part and Russia realized he had just been weary from his conflict with England. He was so young it was no wonder he was so tired.

"Alfred, it's time to wake up," Russia cooed him as he lightly shook his shoulders. The boy stirred and groggily looked at him before closing his eyes in an attempt to sleep once more. Russia chuckled at the boy's reluctance to get up and so decided it was a fine opportune moment to chance holding him in his arms.

The boy was warm; always had been. As Russia held him close and walked up the board to the ship he couldn't shake the feeling that his arms were tightening around the boy as if they did not want to let go. Perhaps they didn't. He knew he, himself, didn't want to let go so why not his very limbs attached to his being?

But a promise was a promise. He said he'd take America to port as he traveled to Paris. He tried to persuade him to accompany him to Paris first before the ships but the young nation insisted and Russia was never one to refuse him.

Laying him down in a hammock Russia took the boy's hands and decided to redress them. After gently fasting clean bandages on the boy's poor hands Russia offered both a kiss. He was certain the boy would be upset over not being able to bid him a proper farewell but Russia understood that he needed his rest.

With a sad sigh Russia turned and made to leave the cabin.

"Ivan."

Turning, Russia witnessed an ever weary nation who looked like he could barely keep his eyes open, rise in his hammock only a little. The child hadn't even made an attempt to sit up in his hammock but he stared at him with eyes pleading he stay and Russia could never deny the boy anything.

"Return to slumber, little Alfred," Russia coaxed, standing in the arc of the doorway.

"Am I leaving?" Alfred asked, his lids becoming heavy and attempting to close for a long time.

"Da," Russia answered. "I will see you some time later. Promise me?"

"Maybe . . . we can go fishing . . . sometime?" Alfred suggested though Russia often wondered if the boy was just dozing in and out of his dreams.

"Fishing?" Russia questioned.

"At . . . my home," Alfred muttered before light snores were heard. He was gone to the world and didn't manage to catch Russia's wide smile. The boy had just officially invited him over and Russia felt his heart doing flips inside his chest.

"Da, fishing with you sounds good," Russia whispered before leaving the ship that was to take the boy home. Now that he had an excuse to visit he would be sure to hurry and do just that as soon as possible. If his Tsar forbad he go seeing European dilemmas more important than building relations with the young country Russia could just threaten him with General Winter.

Nothing was going to stop him from visiting America in his own home.

Oregon County, North America. June 30th 1834

"Ooooh! I got one!" America exclaimed as he yanked the salmon out of the waters and tried his best to hold onto the flailing thing. Just as it flung out of America's grip Russia reached over and caught hold of the fishing line still attached to its mouth and wrapped it securely around his thumb.

"Hold it like this this time, Alfred," Russia advised as he took the fish by the mouth and then handed it to the American who just laughed and did as told.

"Sorry," he apologized and then stuck the fish into a barrel. "Guess I got too excited. First catch of the day and all."

Russia chuckled and turned toward the sun as it began its decent. He, himself, had already caught a good six fish while the poor young nation still had nothing to show for it except now that decently sized salmon. They had started their fishing day early morning and continued throughout the day enjoying the others company. It was near a perfect day and Russia was finding it a shame it was ending so soon.

"Hey, Ivan, can I ask you something?"

Russia turned and noticed the boy staring at him as if concentrating on something. Raising a brow Russia allowed him to ask and it was then the older nation understood why the young country looked at him like so. Pointing toward Russia, America looked him in the eye, like he often does when asking any sort of question, and asked—

"Why are you wearing a winter scarf? Aren't you too hot?"

Russia smiled and touched the scarf wrapped around his neck. He was surprise the American hadn't asked him sooner, but most of America's visits consisted of the late fall or winter seasons so it was understandable.

"For the longest time I thought it was some sort of ascot," America admitted.

"This was a present from my sister," Russia answered as his gaze fell down to the line in the water below the small dock they had sat themselves on.

"Your sister?" America questioned. "I didn't know you had any siblings."

Holding up two fingers Russia smiled and glanced back toward the boy. "I have two."

America's smile seemed to brighten. "Really?" he asked. "How come I've never met them before?"

Russia wasn't going to admit that it was because he forbade his sisters from seeing him. He was certain that young America wouldn't understand just how odd his sisters were. Knowing little Belarus, America would likely get chased by her and refuse to come and visit Russia and he just couldn't have that.

"They were always away when you visited," Russia lied and watched America's shoulders slump.

"Well that just won't do," America said as he crossed his arms. "I guess I'll just have to take a sizable trip sometime so I could meet them. You'd introduce me, right?"

Russia was reluctant to answer the child. In all honesty he had no intention of introducing his sisters to the boy or the boy to his sisters. He knew that'd spell a disaster and probably further strain his relationship with his sisters for being the cause of his affectionate leaving him. But America was right; he would have to eventually meet them. Any courting partner should meet their significant other's family. Those were the rules.

Then again, that was only after their courtship becomes official. Right now, Russia doubted the boy even knew he was being secretly and discreetly courted. He wondered when he should inform the boy of this ongoing status he's silently marked out to the other nations.

"I wish I could see my siblings," America muttered. When Russia turned to look at him he watched the boy pull his knees up to his chin, his grip on his fishing pole loosened at the weary thoughts of himself being a big brother in name only.

That was right; he had two little brothers now. It was a shame that he couldn't see them. The life of a nation was hard, especially a nation with siblings. Russia's known so many countries who've had to be separated from their sister or brother for centuries on end. But it was their fate and Russia knew America had to realize this as well.

"I'll take you one day to see them," Russia finally said. This time his statement held a promise. He hated seeing America saddened by the fact that he could not see his little brothers and so if the only way to lighten his mood on the subject of siblings was to show his own then Russia would do it, no matter the dangers. After all, as he's realized before, a soon-to-be mate needed to grow acquainted with their promised family. It was only fair.

"I'd very much like that," America said with a smile before his line was tugged—quite harshly. "Wah!"

And with a splash the boy had flown off the dock and into the waters below. It was late June. The waters were warm and so Russia felt no need to dive in to save him from an icy death.

Popping his head out of the waters America coughed and shook off the water from his locks of hair before looking up at Russia who simply sat where he was looking as if nothing had happened.

"Thanks for catching me, _Ivan_!" America complained as he crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at the Russian still dry on the docks.

Russia just smiled, rolling his shoulders and then casting the fishing line again. "Nothing is broken. You are fine," he simply stated before watching in amusement as America's face grew red and he reached down into the waters as if looking for something. Raising his brow Russia watched closely, curiously, before to his surprise the boy pulled up a fish, albeit a small one, and tossed it at him.

The small creature hit Russia right against the shoulder. Russia would have dodged it hadn't he been so surprised that America had caught the fish with his bare hands. Instead he opted to let it hit his coat. There was nothing wrong with getting the fabric a little wet. But the problem with that had been how Russia underestimated the velocity of the toss. America had thrown it harder than expected and so Russia had lost his balance and the wooden stool he sat on wobbled until it toppled over along with his frame.

SPLASH!

"Oh! Ivan I am so sorry. I didn't mean to . . . I didn't think . . ." America apologized all the way toward where the Russian had fallen into the waters. He waded over to him as the Russian stood up, his hair covering his eyes as water cascaded down onto his lips stretched out in a straight line—neither frowning nor smiling, but it was assumed it was border frowning.

"Would you look at that, you even held onto your fishing pole," America noted as he looked down to see the pole still intact in the Russian's grip. With a weak chuckle Russia moves his bangs out of his eyes and looks down at the American who was smiling apologetically up at him. For some odd reason he had yet found himself able to smile at his predicament.

"Such a rude host; do you want me to catch my death of cold?" Russia asked trying to make the boy feel sorry for him.

"Hey, it's almost July," America said with a smile and a wink as if that would excuse his accidental actions. "The sun's hot and the water's refreshing. Perfect combination."

"Da, it is," Russia said with a nod as he pushed the rest of his bangs away from his face. "Then why don't you cool yourself down?"

With that he pushed the American down under the waters. The smile was back on his lips and Russia couldn't help but feel odd. Normally he'd be drowning his enemies this way but now he was actually _playing_ in the water, innocently dunking the boy and splashing at him when he surfaced. He'd normally strike back with war when someone like America challenged him and continued their little water-play, circling round and round, but he knew in his heart that this was innocent, this was a means to bond and Russia was enjoying himself.

He couldn't remember the last time he had done such a thing.

"Ah, ah! Watch it, that's pure cotton!" America cried out as Russia tossed the line and hook his way, the hook catching onto the boy's vest and pulling. Russia paid no mind and just reeled the nation in before lifting him up with one arm.

"Well, watch a catch I have today. Looks like I win, Alfred. My prize is the best," Russia announced in a playful manner before wriggling the boy like some cod he caught.

"H-Hey! Put me down!" America cried out, his face growing red with frustration of not being able to break free sooner than he'd like. "I'm no one's prize!"

"Really?" Russia questioned as he spun around a little to disorient the boy playfully but secretly trying to keep him still in his arms to perhaps obtain more information from him. "Then how would one win you?"

"They'd put me down for starters!" America groaned out from the dizziness invoked upon him.

Russia smiled and did as America wished. Chuckling in amusement as the young nation stumbled around trying to regain his footing. Shooting out a hand Russia steadied the blond and watched him blink before he set those blue eyes upon him. The fact that they were both still waist deep in the water was forgotten as they spoke.

"Anything else than placing you upon your feet?" Russia asked, quite curious what the American thought about this subject and even if he knew what he was talking about.

"Why does it matter?" America asked as he shook his head before looking up toward the sky, successfully shaking off his dizziness. "I've decided to remain in my own hemisphere. Shouldn't think anyone would want to court someone who doesn't leave the comfort of their home."

Ah, so the child did know what Russia was playing at.

"So you've received offers," Russia inquired. "What did I tell you, little Alfred? It wouldn't be long before the others flocked at your door with proclamations and offers."

America offered a soft smile before touching his wet sleeves and keeping his arms above the waters. "You were right, Ivan, like usual."

Ivan inclined his head at the praise but continued to play with him for more information. "Of course I'm sure they were all very saddened when you turned them down," Ivan said with a chuckle but listened and watched closely if he was mistaken.

America nodded his head and glanced away bashfully it seemed. "I had to," he reasoned. "They were all just too old for me."

Russia frowned. Is that what America disliked?

"I shouldn't think you'd find anyone close to your age unless you wish to be with Canada," Russia said. He found himself amused at the dislike in America's face as his stepbrother was mentioned.

"Mattie?" America asked. "No thank-you. He's practically my sibling and that's just . . ."

"Odd." Both America and Russia had said it in unison. The boy laughed at the timing and Russia doubted he knew just how much he could relate to the shivering creepiness in those words.

The sound of a bell's chimes caught the two's attention. Turning they both frowned to see a ship sailing along the coast as if it were a personal search convoy. Though, it might as well have been seeing how it was a Russian schooner.

"It's your ship," America stated with a frown as the bells chimed once more to gain their attention. "Couldn't they have waited at port?"

Russia said nothing. He thought the same but knew that it must have been something important if the ship sailed around the coast in search for him instead of waiting at port with the destined time, which was tomorrow.

Turning Russia began trudging out of the water. He was the first upon the docks and when he turned, simultaneously trying to dry off his shirt, he looked to see a defiant America with his arms crossed. He was still wading in the water.

"Come out or you'll catch a cold," Russia commanded in his elderly tone. But there was no sound of movement nor word from the boy. He was still not coming out.

"It's not fair," America pouted. "You were supposed to leave tomorrow."

"Timing is never our friend, Alfred," Russia stated with an apologetic sigh. "We can make one appointment and then the sands shift and change making sure we never see it." He leaned down and offered his hand. When the boy took it he offered an easy smile.

"When will I see you again?" America asked.

"Are you certain you want to be seen around with this old man?" Russia teased as he helped wring the boy's wet shirt.

America looked cute with his cheeks puffed up like that. The boy was always so emotionally open and it was endearing. Only him though. If any other country decided to act the way young Alfred did then Russia feared he may try to kill them from sheer annoyance. With Alfred, he could never grow tired of his gestures.

"You're different," America assured.

"Am I?" Russia asked with a raised brow.

"Yeah, like Prussia," America stated with a sure nod. He was lucky his eyes were closed because he missed Russia's frown in its entirety. "I had invited him over too but he's also been busy."

"Well, perhaps it's because I've been keeping you. I'll leave to let him have you to himself," Russia informed, though he honestly didn't mean it. It was just his way of showing the child his silent dislike for his closeness with the German.

"I didn't mean it that way," America assured as he grabbed a hold of the Russian's arm and tugged. "I like you both very differently and I want to spend time with you separately."

"So is it fishing with me and hunting with him?" Russia asked.

"We don't always have to go fishing if you don't want to," America offered.

"I enjoy whatever you want to do," Russia stated.

"Then will you return in the future?" America asked expectantly.

"When would you like me back?" Russia asked, leaning closer to the American who noticed this and so leaned back. Odd, the boy usually stood his ground.

"How about tomorrow?" America asked with a chuckle but that sad smile returned. "I know . . . you have to leave now."

"When I can clear my schedule, I'll see what I can do," Russia informed.

"Don't make me wait too long," America insisted and this time his smile fell to a small frown. He looked quite sad at the aspect of waiting for another visit from Russia and it made the older nation very happy at that fact. But it still hurt to see the boy so upset over his departure and he cursed his people for coming early to receive him.

Just as Russia was to whisper goodbye in his tongue the boy came close and wrapped his arms around him. He was hugging him. He often wondered if he mistook him for Prussia. The boy was always hugging the albino and the gestures seemed akin to something brotherly, so . . .

"Farewell, Ivan," America whispered. He then pulled away before the Russian could say anything.

It was only polite to return a "goodbye" or "farewell" in kind but Russia hadn't and he didn't know why. It could have been because he didn't want to leave or he swore to himself that'd he'd return as soon as possible. In all honestly it was a mystery. Even as he stood aboard the deck of his ship amongst his men come to return him home due to important issues in the uprisings of his people over the monarchy he never said a word and only smiled longingly at the boy who stood with his people waving farewell down on the docks.

He had imagined that the country was looking at him with just as much longing and always wished that fantasy become a reality, but he was never certain. It could be because of his age compared to the little one but frankly he didn't want to think about differences that the American seemingly took to heart and concerned himself over. So, instead, Russia only took to waving back in gestures of goodbye and keeping his eyes on the boy until he was out of eyesight.

"Wait for me, Alfred, I will return. Even if my country is thrown into civil war I will return. This I promise," Russia swore to himself and placed his hand over his chest to soothe his aching heart.

* * *

**Daughter Of The Revolution****: So, I'm already working on the next chapter. You know the drill. If I get lotsa reviews I'll update quick ;) Also, wonder if anyone can guess the next time frame? Give you a hint: it's a very emotional one for the both of them. ;P**

**History time!**

**Time frame is: the Napoleonic Wars [1803-1815] and the War of 1812 [1812-1815]**

**In the Napoleonic Wars Russia, England, Prussia, Austria and others are allies against France and enemies which is why Russia and England talk to each other slightly easier.**

**Russia was frankly the one who took Paris during Napoleon's first defeat in his country and is so considered the hero in the war this time around.**

**When Russia talked about a game with England it was a reference to the Great Game; a rivalry between the Russian Empire and the British Empire over trade and territory, etc.**

**England was in fact more concerned with the Napoleonic Wars since it was happening in their own back yard than America and their skirmish. But they still fought with them on the sea and eventually sent in troops to the Americas thus fighting on land and invading the U.S. for the last time.**

**Also, the U.S. was somewhat placed on the side of Napoleon albeit, sorta, indirectly simply because they continued trade with the French during a time England wanted them to stop supplying their enemy. But, as you can see, America didn't give a hoot!**

**The mention of Canada starving was based on England's blockade on New England (America's east coast). Because of that blockade in 1814 the trade went way down and also Britain and Canada suffered because the British Empire was the major trader with America during that time soooo, it was kinda like starving Canada. Poor thing.**

**And yes, Canada is not America's brother/twin in this fanfic. Why? Because he's France's son since France colonized after England, which happened to be just a year after America's birth in 1607. Canada was born in 1608. [Yes, I'm going by the actual Canadian colonies and not Acadian because if that were the case then America could be considered older more so since the Spanish colonies preceded the 13 colonies and those territories were eventually absorbed into him.]. There's ma logic. So Canada is England's adopted son who loves him to death and therefore America's stepbrother.**

**And, after the 1812 War America wanted money for damages and the return of their slaves. It just so happened that the Tsar of Russia, Alexander I, helped negotiate for America and so England ended up handing over the slaves and paying over a million bucks in damages. In the end, the British found their purses pretty light :P**

**America's capital, Washington D.C. was burnt down in 1814 by the British trying to weaken the Americans morale and it was the President's house that America had been in when it was burned.**

**The fishing little date was actually a slight reference to the Russo-American Treat of 1824 and partly the Ukase of 1821 where America and Russia agreed that Russian ships can fish near the Oregon County territory.**

**And if you're curious, America's 2nd little brother mentioned is New Zealand.**


	7. Always

St. Petersburg, Russia. January 1861

Russia hated rumors. He found them quite useless because they were usually never true. He more so hated true rumors, especially when it involved evil deeds or deeds to be done upon him and his allies. He had remembered the one rumor floating around at nobility parties early the century; the one where it had been rumored England planned on taking back his colony. That was false of course and it had only been a matter of trade and treaty issues. He had made sure the empire had no plans in doing such a thing.

The current one going around Russia's palace was of interest. It was about America. Though small and only heard by perhaps only two people, there was rumor of a civil war. A civil war? This early on? Impossible. Or was it?

Russia had sat himself down and written the young nation a letter which he had never replied. It had been years since he had seen or heard from him. He was concerned and it was disheartening his sisters.

"Vanya, will you please eat your meal? You've passed three already in the last two days," Ukraine pleaded as she sat next to her brother and sister while they tried to enjoy an easy breakfast between each other.

Russia merely stabbed his knife into the pastries presented to him to eat. He had not been in the mood to indulge in things trivial like hunger; after all, he didn't need to eat as often as the humans serve him. He was a nation and he could go months if not years without nourishment if he needed to. He had not heard of America in years and just a few days ago his worn old letter returned with the seal still intact. The child hadn't even touched it much less read his concerning words paragraphed out explaining his need to know if he were well.

While Ukraine looked on in worry; always concerning herself with her younger sibling's health and eating habit, Belarus, Russia's little sister, looked quite annoyed and simply slapped her silverware down beside the porcelain plate.

"Is this about that little boy I always see you with?" She demanded it in tone with her fists clenched and all.

Russia rolled his eyes and found an annoyance instead of a fear for his overly obsessed little sister. Narrowing his eyes he looked at her and actually stood his ground.

"He is a very close friend, Natalia, of course I am concerned over his welfare," Russia stated as he stood and ignored the deadly glare from the girl.

"Perhaps little Alfred doesn't quite take a fancy to you like you do to him," she said with a mean chuckle and even harsher smile.

"How do you know his name?" Russia asked. He never told his sisters about the boy's human-given name. They didn't need to know. They didn't deserve to know.

"I hear it come out of your lips whilst you moan in your sleep," Belarus admitted though not ashamed that she informed her brother that she watched him sleep at nights. "Or were you sleeping?"

That knowing smile from the girl was daunting and Russia felt his blood boil. He would usually feel an embarrassment over his sister knowing about his night fantasies but he didn't this time. This time he just felt an anger. So to release said pent up anger Russia took hold of the round breakfast table and flipped it.

"How dare you enter _my_ wing and sneak into _my_ chambers to watch _me_ sleep!" Russia shouted, trying to intimidate his sister but she stood her ground well with her arms crossed, eyes narrowed, and jaw jutted outward.

While he had succeeded in startling his older sister, Ukraine, who was now trembling in her seat, Belarus was unshaking.

"Because I will do whatever is necessary to avoid competition when I feel threatened," Belarus stated.

Russia hadn't even realized he rose his hand to strike his own sister until Ukraine had jumped in her seat and cried out, "Ivan, don't!"

With a surprised looked Russia turned toward his raised hand as if he hadn't known how it had gotten to that position. Pulling it back quickly to his side Russia looked down in shame and offered apologetic glances toward both startled sisters.

"Were you going to hit me?" Belarus asked in surprise before an anger arose in her that made Russia's arm and fingers twitch to repeat the occurrence. "Were you?"

The young girl jumped out of her chair and pressed herself close to her brother as if trying to force an answer out of him that he himself didn't know.

"Answer me!" Belarus demanded even against her older sister's begging that she stop and not try their brother any longer.

To avoid another incident Russia left quickly. He could hear Belarus attempting to follow him but when she shouted out complaints he knew that Ukraine had caught hold of her and held her back. He hadn't meant for his frustration to lash out like that. He didn't care if it affected his eating habit, but he did care if it affected his social life.

He would later apologize for his impolite departure but now he needed to be alone. He realized after his letter had returned that he'd probably just have to ask the other countries if they had heard anything, particularly the ones America often traded with. He didn't want anyone thinking him too odd nor too obsessed, which was never good for socialization. If they realized his unhealthy want and need for the boy then they'd never talk to him and no one would fill his parties. Having other countries around to converse with was always much more fun and isolation was the last thing Russia wanted.

The once heard rumor was never brought up when Russia asked the other countries but as far as he found, America had yet to contact anyone else directly either.

Königsberg, Province of Prussia. February 1861

"No, we haven't heard anything much from him. He hasn't even visited since a few decades ago."

Russia narrowed his eyes and flattened his lips in a straight line as he looked down to see Prussia's little brother standing before him. He'd grown substantially since he last saw him—which was at the masquerade. Looking at him and noticing the fit physique and the building muscle, Russia wondered if this young child would become a state any time soon like his brothers—or worse, a country.

"I wasn't talking to you, otrod'ye," Russia stated with a forced smile though the smile neglected to hide the threat that was heard in his tone.

"Step aside, West," Prussia commanded from where he had been lounging on a soft chair near the blond boy. Prussia's little brother seemed reluctant to step aside showing Russia the child's spirit but at least he listened to his brother and got out of the way before Russia did something he wouldn't regret.

"Ja, we've heard nothing from him," Prussia said. "I admit I'm growing concerned, especially with that rumor going around."

"What rumor?" Russia played ignorant simply because he wanted to see if the Prussians were speaking of the same things the Russians were. He certainly hoped not and dreaded what Prussia was going to inform him.

Prussia opened his mouth to answer but stopped himself short, leaving an anticipating Russia to nearly topple over a cliff of disappointment. He watched the albino turn to his brother who looked like he was waiting for an answer as well. Before anything else Prussia pointed toward the door.

"Ludwig, could you please leave the room?" Prussia asked but it was more like a demand.

"Why?" the young one asked. His blue eyes glanced up toward Russia and Russia could have sworn he saw some sort of threat in that gaze before they turned back toward the boy's brother. "What's wrong?"

"This is nothing but political talk," Prussia informed with a nice smile. "I know how much you hate listening to it."

"No it's not; you're just going to tell him—"

"Ludwig, please, do as you're told," Prussia insisted, his tone harsher and his gaze intense.

Reluctant again, but he still listened. Russia offered a smile for the Prussian who was finishing a sigh of frustration.

"What an obedient child," Russia complimented and praised that he was no longer in his presence.

"Ja, he's a good boy," Prussia agreed. "Just didn't want him to hear this and get any ideas. You know he quite likes Alfred? They play together all the time when he visits and he gets so upset when Alfred has to leave. Heh, he even proposed a courtship but I refused and told him he couldn't until he's become a nation like Alfred; it only being fair. He got so upset with me but he's striving toward that goal and he's making me proud."

_Is that so?_ Russia bitterly thought inwardly. _Well, Alfred, looks like someone your age _had_ asked you. You'll have to explain to me why you declined._

"Da, how funny," Russia said with a smile and even managed a pleasant tone. Now Prussia needed to tell him what their rumor was or else he was three seconds away from heading out where that little German child was and strangling him to death for having the gall to ask for Alfred's hand in courtship.

Prussia smiled along with Russia before sitting upright and entwining his fingers together. "So many rumors go around my courts that I throw out most like the shit they are, but when someone talks about this particular subject it tends to attract every nation's ear and get their devious minds a-ticking."

"What is it?" Russia asked with a look of concern. The concern was true, but he was more so annoyed with the delay of the answer than anything else and it took everything Russia had not bite at the German to get him to tell him what the rumor he's heard was.

"There is a rumor about civil war in America," Prussia informed and from that Russia's heart dropped into his belly and he felt a cold sweat cascade over him.

"Civil war?" Russia asked with wide eyes. His fears had been confirmed but he had to put on a show for Prussia. The man always enjoyed being the first one to know so he let him have the glory of it if he wanted it.

"Ja, I don't know if they are true, but it is what I've heard," Prussia informed with a shake of his head. "Have you heard anything on your side?"

"Nyet. This is the first time I've heard about this," Russia lied. "Well, I thank you for telling me this. I'll ask the others if they've heard anything."

"You tell me what you've heard," Prussia said. He was concerned, Russia knew but he just found him so unworthy to care. What would he do if it was found America was caught in a civil war? He didn't think the Prussian could do anything and so he would probably not tell him anything more if he discovered more rumors of said case.

Russia offered a goodbye in German before turning to leave. When he exited the door he had found Prussia's little brother close. He had been listening in. The boy looked up at him as he moved back and aside. Without offering an apology for snooping or anything he excuses himself from his side and maneuvers around him to enter the room where his brother remained.

Russia could hear the boy shouting at his brother in their tongue. Russia knew German well enough to know the little one was shouting his upset over the fact that Prussia had neglected to tell him about the rumor of a possible unstable America. The sound of concern in the little German's tone upset Russia, especially after finding out about his proposal but he was just a child and therefore offered no competition, so Russia tried to pay him no mind.

So Russia was on his way and proceeded to ask other nations about rumors and such. To his dismay he had found the rumors to be true by England himself.

London, England. February 1861

Russia gasped in horror at the news. He was disturbed by it and especially by England's lack of concern. The nation simply sat there drinking his tea and scrolling over documents in regards to his trading and his younger sons' development.

"How could you be so calm about this?" Russia asked, his limbs shaking but he was trying to no let England see—wasn't like he was looking at him in the first place. "You know how horrifying a civil war can be!"

"Doesn't matter. It's not my problem to deal with," England stated as he sipped at his tea. "I've secured my trade in neutrality. He's not going to involve anyone else in this. This is his problem alone to deal with."

"He's your son," Russia reasoned

As soon as he said that England stilled himself. He looked at him with sharp green eyes and then quietly sat his teacup down and then the parchments after evening them out on his knees. He crossed his legs and then leaned forward with his chin resting lightly on his knuckles. Offering Russia a smile, he said—

"Haven't I lost all rights to that title? Have not you, the others, and he forbidden me from calling him such? Yes? Then stop pointing your damn finger. I can no longer protect him. That is up to him and even if it's against himself."

With that England leaned back in his chair, took up a piece of paper and then his tea to drink once more. Russia wouldn't be able to talk to him any longer. He simply didn't care for reasons such as abandonment. So Russia left and contemplated what he'd do at his own home.

St. Petersburg, Russia. March 1861

"You need to calm down, Russia," Russia's current Tsar said as he rose his hand to halt the nation's pacing before his throne. "Your feelings for the nation can often misguide your actions. You need to think about what needs to be done and what can be left undone."

"I need to protect him; that's what needs to be done," Russia stated hastily.

His Tsar looked at him with a frown and contemplated his options. Russia in truth couldn't do anything his ruler didn't promote but there were ways of persuasion and if Russia had to call General Winter to . . .

"I know of your heart's longing, Russia, but for me to help there must be another reason besides emotional feelings toward another," His Tsar said. "Could it be concerns with trade, would the conflict clash with treaty or territorial issues? Whatever you decide I will support."

Russia could choose any one of those, but he decided to put a truth in his move to help the boy. His Tsar was right; he couldn't just run off and abandon his people with the excuse of close affection even though most of his people now knew of his feelings toward the American nation. His people deserved more than that.

"After speaking with the other nations," Russia rationed. "I heard signs of possible threats to the United States of America. England is in favor of a split even though he hasn't officially stated it. France could pirate his defenseless cargo ships since his military ships are busy scuffling the other. I don't know what the Ottoman Empire would do once he finds out. And Spain . . . I don't want anyone to interfere. I know I must leave him to his own torment but I want to make sure no one takes advantage of him in his fragile time. Please, let me go to him."

Russia's Tsar understood, he could see it in the man's eyes. So, no one stopped him from leaving with a flock of ships and sailing to the land unannounced to the government. It didn't matter, Russia was certain they were already too busy with the conflict and therefore wouldn't mind foreign friendly ships in their waters.

Washington D.C. America. November 1861

When Russia and his ships had docked he was the first off the ship. The American people seemed surprised to see him and the ships and looking at their faces he could see their weariness.

"Where is your governor?" Russia asked the sailors and traders around but he hadn't had to look for long. The older man rushed up to him and his men and with wide eyes asked—

"Russian Empire? Why have you graced us with this sudden surprise?"

Pointing toward the ships and the Captain who traveled with Russia, he said, "I have heard about the turmoil in this land, and so has most of Europe. I have come to offer naval support in making sure the others don't attempt any foul play."

"You have?" the Governor looked surprised but a bright grateful smile appeared just as soon. "God bless you! We could use a little sense of security as of late."

"Where is he?" Russia asked quickly.

When the Governor frowned he cast his eyes down and then glanced inland. "He's this way, follow me."

Without another word Russia was led by the Americans to where they were keeping their country and when Russia set his eyes upon the young one his heart nearly broke at the sight.

He was near in a fettle position. His hands were wrapped around those golden locks of hair and looked as if they were trying to pull chunks of the strands out. His eyes trembled and the gaze was not fixated on anything. His lips moved in mutters of incoherent words. And his limbs twitched in rhythmic trembles.

He looked pained.

"Alfred," Russia whispered as he drew closer. He barely paid mind to the humans who left him in alone silence. They didn't seem to mind a foreign nation approaching their distraught country. Good, they knew they were not enemies and they trusted him enough to leave him alone with their fragile minded nation.

Touching his trembling shoulders Russia pulled the nation over to see his face. His eyes never focused on him and his hands seemed to grip his head tighter and Russia was afraid those powerful hands would crush his own skull. So his first mission was to pull those arms away but America was strong.

"Let go," Russia tried coaxing but was finding it difficult to pull the limbs away from the danger they could create. His tone never deepened or resounded in threat. He stayed calm for him to his best ability because he knew what it was like to go through this state and he wanted to help America. "Let go," he once again said and slowly he managed to pull the arms away and press them against his sides.

For a moment he thought the shaking had stopped and that perhaps America would look at him, but that was not the case. Instead he shook more violent and he broke free from Russia. He got up and began walking away, grasping his head, and crying.

"It hurts!" America cried out, shaking his head and opening his mouth wide from the pain. "Ah! It hurts so much!"

Russia came up to him and wrapped his arms around him in protection. He held him close and dealt with America shaking and pushing against him and crying to be released. Russia just held him there before he began to sit, bringing America with him.

"Still, still," Russia whispered as he pet his hair and held him tightly so he couldn't break free. "Let me shield you. Let me do this."

But America continued to cry out from the pain. It hurt to hear those sounds. Russia was used to the laughter and pleasant voice of the young country, not these horrendous and torturous cries of agony. But it couldn't be helped, especially not in this state. So Russia held him and tried to let the boy feel his concern and know that he was there to help.

For months he trembled in his arms and even though Russia had always wanted to do this; to hold him in his arms for months on end, Russia disliked this situation very much. Seeing his beloved like this was tearing him to pieces more so than he thought and he wondered if it had been a good idea to come and see him like this.

No other nation had interfered thus far and Russia was glad. He smiled and looked down at the American in his arms and pet his hair. "No one will harm you; I'll make sure of it, Alfred."

He was still trembling but it wasn't as bad as it was months before. Russia was surprised his men hadn't come to retrieve him since he had been locked up in this closed room with America for months now. He wondered if the winter had already passed by; if the snow had melted and the buds were beginning to bloom. He knew how much America loved the spring season. Perhaps it was still too early for the sunflowers.

Russia smiled before his fingers skimmed over soft cheek and landed on the hard frame of a lens. He blinked before chuckling to himself for his own stupidity in not seeing it earlier. Glasses. America had glasses.

"These are new," Russia mused as he traced his fingertips over the frame before circling America's ear and then falling down to trace his jaw before pulling his chin up so he could get a better view of the lenses.

Russia wasn't sure if he liked them. On one hand they covered America's already beautiful flawless face; on the other it seemed to give an illusion of maturity. It reminded him of Austria and that wasn't the nation he'd like to have interesting dreams about. He contemplated on taking them off because they obstructed his path of no hindrance whilst caressing the boy's face but he decided against it.

"You've gotten very big, Alfred," Russia said as he wrapped his arms around America's waist and held him chest to chest to feel the beating of his heart. It was fast—like a frightened little thing. "I'm happy you are still growing. You know . . . the others don't like it, especially England. They want you to stop. But I don't care. Keep growing, keep reaching for the clouds and when you manage to reach Heaven, please ask Sviatoy Piter to let me be with you because I'm so afraid they'll never let me in to such a place. After all the bad things I've done you were the right one so please, you have to pull through this. Please."

Civil Wars could do a number of things to nations. One, they could completely reform them; tear them apart and make it as if they never existed in the light they once had before. Two, they could break them apart into pieces and their original self lost. Three, they could cease and the nation recover but of course not without serious mental trauma and that is always the hardest to heal from.

Russia bent his head and kissed the top of America's scalp. He let his lips linger as he whispered to him, "Fight, Alfred. Come back to me."

There was a cry of pain that escaped America's lips and Russia bit his bottom lip and placed America's shaking head against his throat and cradled him. He closed his eyes and thought for a moment that he might cry. Of course that was impossible because his tears had already been spent from a childhood too drenched in horror and blood. But he thought . . .

"How will I love you if you're not you?" Russia felt his own limbs trembling and suddenly he felt a chill run through him. General Winter. There were no windows in the room America was kept in, just a small lantern often replaced by servants so Russia had no way of telling if the man was hovering just outside, but the bastard had another thing coming to him.

_If you take him away from me in any way I'll swear I'll never forgive you! _Russia inwardly swore as his hold tightened around America. He didn't care if the General had defended his land and people for the past thousands of years he would and will turn his back to the ghost if America vanished. He was promised to him after all and so that gave the god no right to do that, no after all Russia had sacrificed for this—for America.

Of course Russia knew he had been bidding his time. When a knock was heard on the door and the voice of his Captain resounded in his ears, though muffled as it was through the oak door, Russia heard him say that it was time to leave. He was a nation and couldn't be gone for long from his people so it was expected, but Russia didn't want to let go.

"Da," Russia answered back and then turned down to look at America. He was still trembling but alas he was in slumber. Russia smiled and pet his bangs before leaning down and kissing his forehead. "It is best to sleep through this, Alfred. It hurts less."

And so reluctantly Russia let go. On his way out he informed the servants to place blankets over the boy and to not disturb his slumber. He stared behind him the entire way back to his home and he didn't care if the fellow sailors murmured about his jealous attachment to the young nation. Upon return he swore to his Tsar that he would quickly return and he was always good on his word.

Washington D.C. America. September 1863

When the door opened Russia frowned. The younger nation looked worse than when he had left him just a year ago. His hair was in a ruffle, his eyes were red and bags were beginning to form under them. His clothes were near to shreds; no doubt he did it himself. Even his fingertips were bloodied from scratching the wooden floors beneath.

With concerned brows clashing together, Russia approached the ex-colony. He knelt down and picked up a tossed blanket and wrapped it around the blonde's trembling frame. The moment he touched him America lashed out. His elbow pushed back and about jabbed Russia in the nose had he not moved his head to the side. He caught the arm with his hand and held tightly before pulling it back behind America's back to stop him from moving.

"Easy," Russia coaxed as he reached down and wrapped the blanket around the tattered nation. "I promised you I'd return didn't I? Here I am."

Russia held him close and felt his limbs shake. It was so much worse than before and those blue eyes were so horrified. All the things that America had seen, all the things he had done—it will haunt him for the rest of his life. Russia continued to pray he'd recover in one piece if this turmoil was all settled inside him.

Russia gasped. His eyes widened. The sight and the feel of those tears . . .

"Alfred?" Russia let the tips of his fingers skim under those lenses and touch the warm streams. It continued to flow and the look in America's eyes . . . "Oh, Alfred."

America cried out in pain and agony but those tears . . . Russia could hear the horrid sadness. So he held the boy's face and pulled him against his neck and held him still. The sobs, the sniffling; it was so tormenting that Russia's heart beat against his chest trying to break free and comfort his love. But how?

"You have to fight, you have to be strong. You have to come back to me," Russia whispered into the blonde's ear.

When the trembling became unbearable America pulled and pushed away. He cried out, shaking his head before his hands pushed his glasses off and they hit the floor hard—cracking. Russia observed how America slammed his head down against the floor over and over again, bloodying the side of his head as if he was trying to render himself unconscious.

"Stop it, Alfred!" Russia demanded as he moved toward him and grabbed a hold of his arms, pulling him back against his chest. "You'll damage yourself!"

Russia swore that if anyone ruined America's image, if anyone touched him, if they bruised, marred his precious skin then he'd declare war. He'd murder those who had done it. But how could he harm the one doing this to his love when it was the boy himself? It hurt because Russia didn't know what to do. It hurt because Russia was being tormented at having to watch this.

He didn't have to if he didn't want to. Like the rest of the countries he could declare himself neutral and stay away. He could, he really could, but he didn't want to. He wanted to stand beside Alfred when no one else would.

He wanted to be his only. He wanted him to see that he was there. But he was so blinded with his self-infliction that he couldn't even feel his embrace. He couldn't see his ships. He couldn't see how worried he was for him!

When a chill swept over the Russian nation he wrapped his arms around the American and picked his trembling form up into his arms. Turning he kicked the locked door open, startling the American servants waiting outside. They cried their disapproval and protested as Russia tore himself from their grabbing hands and walked throughout the mazes of halls of the house the nation was kept in until he shoved himself out one of the back doors and into the falling snow.

"My lord!" Russia could hear the servants' outraged cry. "Please return him! Please!"

They would probably get the guards, no doubt about that, but Russia didn't care. The snow was falling harder now, the flakes thicker. He doubted they would catch up to him anytime soon. So he continued to walk out into the back yards of the American's home passing by frozen trees and bushes and he continued to walk as his violet eyes looked up and stared down the gray skies heavy with snowfall.

"You promised me!" Russia shouted. He could see his breath by now and the cover was rising. Visibility was near to none but Russia could see. He could see everything.

There he was, the ghost himself. Hovering around, over, and under. Taunting him. Looking at him with hollow eyes and lips too pale to offer a kind smile.

"Look at him!" Russia cried out and hugged the young nation in his arms even tighter. "He's falling into ruin and he's dragging me with him! You promised me him and now he's being taken away. Why are you so cruel to this faithful servant? !"

Of course the General never spoke to him. He never did. Instead he seemed to float further away, the snow now blocking Russia's view of him.

"Coward!" Russia spat. "Come back and face me! I will forget you! I swear it! If he shall perish so will you!"

Russia inhaled a shaking breath. The feel of his burning lungs from the cold air didn't hurt as much as when he looked down upon the nation in his arms. The boy, so young to go through this, was trembling against him. His eyes were closed and his lips moved as if he was saying something, but nothing was coherent. He was lost from the world for a time.

In mystic awe Russia watched the large flakes of snow fall upon the boy. Upon impact with his pale skin the snow melted. Touching the blonde's skin Russia found him extremely warm, almost burning. But as he remembered it always had been that way.

So when the General chilled him Russia simply pulled America close and absorbed his warmth. He closed his eyes and focused on the feel of the nation in his arms. This season was always so much more easier to bear with him.

He wanted to spend more winter seasons with him. He wanted to hold his warm hands. He wanted to see his beautiful smile. He wanted his skin shining again. He wanted his hair vibrant in hue like the petals of a sunflower.

Like a sunflower.

The sunflowers.

Russia couldn't remember the last time he cried. He was certain he'd remember this time. There, in the snow, with an ever ill America in his arms. Safe from harm. Safe from the world. If he would just stay still in Russia's arms then all would be well and Russia wouldn't have to hate his stinging eyes.

Taking America's hand Russia pressed the tips of his fingers against his cold cheeks were bitter sad tears streamed down over the rounds and fingertips.

"Do you feel what you do to me . . . Alfred?" Russia whispered with a sad smile. "I don't like it. I don't."

Kissing the palm of his hand Russia moved his lips against the smooth skin. "But . . . only you can make it stop hurting."

His heart hurt continuously. It hurt always more when America was forced from him. The guards and servants did find him. He expected a scolding if they dare to say it to a sovereign nation but the guards simply wished him to return their nation to the dark room. Solemnly, Russia did as asked.

When he placed the American down upon the tussled bed he felt as if it were he to put him in this ill place. If he were given to him to care for then Russia would make sure he would have brave men to look after him and to be beside him should he attempt to damage himself, not remain frightened waiting for the storm to pass out in the halls. They locked him inside for his protection, yes, but it was really for a fear of him and Russia knew it. Any human witnessing such a mental break would be horrified to the grave.

He stayed for as long as he could but in the end he was summoned home once more. Russia leant down and pressed his forehead against America's heated skin.

"Press on, malyutka," Russia whispered before tearing himself away and pressing his hand against his chest so that his pounding heart not break free from the cage of his ribs. "I have to go now, but as always, I promise to return. Stay the same for me."

Moscow, Russia. April 1865

Russia had kept close tabs on the nation. If the other countries asked he'd inform them with some information, just not the amount that he himself needed to know every day. No one seemed as concerned but then again he never concerned himself with their affairs so he really hadn't noticed any affection of the sort. But he had indeed heard news of a cease fire. The war was over and Russia was so very relieved.

He had sat down to ease himself after hearing the news. His hand rubbed his chest to calm his beating heart and assured it that it could rest in peace now.

"Hmph, shame, I wanted him to be torn to pieces."

Russia narrowed his eyes and turned to see his sister standing with her arms crossed. Their older sister was standing next to her with an apologetic smile.

"That is very mean, Natalia," Ukraine scolded. "Forgive her, Ivan. You know how she is."

"Da," Russia said but still didn't let his sister go free. "You will not be saying that, sestra, when it is you breaking apart in civil war. It is not a pleasant thing anyone would wish on any person. It is horrible to human and nation alike."

"Are you going to go and see him?" Ukraine asked, trying to route Russia away from their little sister who could be too rude for her own good. "I am certain you are concerned."

"Da, I will when—!" Russia's eyes widened as he finished the message sent to him by one of America's representatives. He knew that the boy was probably in no state to begin writing again. He knew he needed to heal and it had been very kind that his people wrote to him about the success of the war and the uniting of the states once again. This meant that America was still the same—or was he? From what he read at the very end Russia realized that the child might not be as well as he had hoped.

"What is it?" Ukraine moved closer to her brother and peered down at him from where he sat reading the letter. She began reading it herself before her own eyes widened and her lips parted. "Oh, oh no. I . . . I am so sorry."

Russia didn't say a word. He hastily stood up and walked out of the room.

"Where is he going now?" Belarus asked with a narrowed glare.

"Natalia, silence," Ukraine bid. "Young Amerika has lost his leader."

Springfield, Illinois. America. May 4th 1865

So many people had shown up. Russia was surprised to see such a number when just a few months before the country had been gripped in war. But he could see they were all earnest and sad, so very sad.

Even amongst the weeping crowd Russia observed America. He stood straight, his limbs no longer shaking, his wounds healing nicely, his countenance mostly well-kept. Well-kept for one attending a funeral that is. But those eyes . . . they were so . . .

Haunted.

Russia often wondered if the young nation even knew he was there. Of course he knew he had much more on his mind than foreign guests.

When the day grew long and the sun began to set the mourners began vanishing one by one until only America was left. He stood there for a long time, so long that the stars began coming out and it wasn't long before the moon was to show itself. So, before that light grabbed America's attention toward the time, Russia approached him.

He said nothing and merely let his presence be known through the sound of his heavy footsteps coming to a halt right behind the blond. There was a silence yes, but not for long.

"You know what he said?" America suddenly spoke and Russia listened with care. "He said that 'we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure.'" America then walked up toward the mausoleum and placed his hands on the white stone. His fingers slowly curled in taking pebbles underneath his nails. "He said that 'four score and seven—nine years ago _my_ fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation—_me_, conceived in _liberty_, and dedicated to the proposition that _all_ men are created _equal_.'"

Russia could hear the vocals quivering. He could see America's shaking shoulders as his head lowered and lowered before his forehead pressed against the cold stone of the mausoleum.

"He said that we 'highly resolve that the dead shall not have died in vain—that I, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.' He said that . . . he believed in me . . . that I would get better . . . that I . . . oh God I'm the one who did it . . . I'm the one who killed him, damn it!"

When America threw his head against the stone structure Russia rushed forward and pulled him into his embrace. The moment the boy was wrapped in his arms the tears threatening to rush out came. So much so that it wet Russia's jacket, but he could care less. He was more so concerned with that indent in the American's forehead now leaking red liquid from nothing short of self-loath and self-harm.

"He was a good leader," Russia assured as he held the boy close. "He had done all he could for you and expected your immediate return of health. If it means that you leave his death behind you to heal properly then I am certain he'd want you to forget right away."

Trembling hands gripped Russia coat, one even taking a hold of his scarf and yanking his neck downward where Russia had to rest his cheek against the younger's head. He didn't mind. As the American wept in his embrace Russia's heart pounded in his chest and it hurt. It hurt so bad and he often wondered if the boy could feel it beating against his chest.

America's leader he had been close with. Russia had often heard how he was one of the only to visit America in his state of health during those four years. He hadn't heard of this much of an attachment to any human since his fathers. It was really something special between a nation and a human whoever the influential being be.

Even as Russia said that America should forget him in order to heal, in truth he knew that the boy would likely never forget the attachment he had shared with the man. He knew that the death, the legacy would haunt the boy for centuries to come and sometimes it wasn't a bad thing, but more oft than not it most certainly was.

Raising his hands, Russia pressed his thumbs underneath the American's eyes where the spectacles didn't hinder his touch. Looking as softly as he could Russia made sure those blue eyes looked into his own. It had been years since they had shared any eye contact and Russia would have been glad had not that gaze now peering up at him held so much ghostly emotions and sights that would no doubt change him for the better or worse.

Russia had assumed, since the Union had won that America had remained the same in body and mind. That was the usual case. But now he was searching. He was looking for that little boy he had met less than a few decades ago. That little boy so full of passion and want to be seen and heard and recognized.

Now look at him, the boy didn't want the world to see him despite their obvious curiosity. But Russia saw him even against his attempts to hide himself from the world stage. He was looking at him now and demanding he show himself to him. Demanding that he look at him.

_I love you so much, Alfred. Can't you see it in my eyes? Can't you feel it in my touch? Can't you observe it through my actions? I give you everything and all I want is for you to recognize me this time and know that I am here and that I am the only one here for you and always will be as long as you love me._

Russia was baring himself before the country. Not verbally, never verbally. Why? Because if he did then he would have to speak it in his own language to actually mean it and to say it right. He knew America wasn't too good with the Russian language and so all Russia had were the gestures, the hints, and the glances.

But America's mind was clouded from previous war and so there was nothing.

"Ivan," America cried out with a shaky inhale. "I miss him."

Pulling him closer Russia placed the boy's head underneath his chin and nearly covered him with his larger frame. He swore he would hold him for as long as he could and he meant it.

"Da, I know, Alfred. I know," Russia said as he offered comfort. Even though he wanted the boy to see it in his actions how much he loved him since he couldn't verbally say it, right now it was fine with Russia if he didn't understand. Right now it was fine because the boy didn't need to recognize something like love. He needed to recognize an eternal friend and companion. He needed to recognize comfort and more importantly: healing.

He read the details of the war and had heard about the casualties. The victories. The defeats. He heard about them all. He knew what would damage a nation when he heard it and most certainly America was damaged. So Russia covered him with his frame and held him close.

"Rest your mind. Rest your heart. Rest your body. And Rest your soul. Know that time will help in healing. But most importantly know that I am here and always will be. Even when no one else will be as courageous to confront you in a time such as this know that I will. Always, Alfred. Always," Russia promised and held the trembling sobbing boy close who cried his heart out onto the Russian for the love of his leader that he had so much cared for and so much hated.

Once more Russia realized there would have to be a wait. America was traumatized. He was in no position to be invited over to a place like Europe where ravenous wolves awaited prey like him to come and stumble. He most certainly was in no position to court. But Russia did not need to be a courting partner to be close to him in a time like this. Even if they were in a courting there could be no closer than this that Russia could get in his comforting.

Now he swore his visits would shorten in span. Instead of seeing the young nation after a few decades he would make it to free himself from his Tsar and affairs every three months if only to see and comfort the boy. He knew it would be a long journey to recovery and he planned on being there when the dark clouds evaded out of America's blue skies.

* * *

**Daughter Of The Revolution: Always so hard to write about :,( The Civil War. Such a dark time in American history. Interestingly enough I had written more fo this "chapter" but I found it dragging on too long and so I cut in and ended up splitting it into two separate chapters so the next chapter is sort of like the continuation of this one here. Not so much as more traumatic post-civil war emotions, well, maybe, but you'll see when we get there ;)**

**History Time!**

**Yes, yes, and yes. Russia and America were VERY close during this century and especially during the American Civil War. Because of this bond Russia was the ONLY European power to offer support. Particularly the Union.**

**England, like most nations during that time declared themselves neutral in America's civil war but were caught red-handed in constructing some ships for the Confederacy. Don't really know what that was all about so . . .**

**During the winter of 1861-1862 (the beginning of the Civil War) the Russian Empire sent two fleets to American waters as a protection from countries like France and Britain. Some even dropped anchor in Washington D.C.**

**Once again, a squadron of Russian ships stayed in American waters for seven months this time in September 1863 to June 1864. A lot of ships in Russia's Imperial Navy were in fact American designed and carried American armament after the Americans encourage the Russians to buff up their navy to compete with the British navy with whom they were then rivals with.**

**Alas one of America's greatest Presidents to date, Abraham Lincoln, had been assassinated on April 14th 1865 and passed away as a result on the morning of April 15th 1865. He was laid to rest on May 4th 1865 in Oak Ridge Cemetery, Springfield, Illinois where many attended his funeral.**

**So, in this story, the time spans can really differ via country-wise. Being that they are near immortal they [the countries that is] don't really think a few decades like, say, 40 years is a long time before seeing someone. In fact it's probably almost like months to them. So, for Russia to suddenly begin visiting every couple of months that's like someone visiting every other day so to speak in nation terms. Because of this the next significant event will happen only two years after the end of the American Civil War. Hmm, can ya guess what it is? Well, whatever it is will definitely involve some sweet RusAme ;) That's my promise to you, lovely readers. Until next time!**


	8. Where the Sun Never Sets

1867

Over the years the Russian would always find America at the grave of his fallen leader and even though he knew he would probably make such a pilgrimage for numerous years to come he had to take him away and let his mind dwell on other things besides the death of his close leader.

"Alfred," Russia said as he approached the boy one day early that year. "I have come to invite you to one of my homes. It would please me if you would accept the offer."

The nation turned his weary and sad eyes away from the tomb. There was no more vibrancy and Russia frowned at its disappearance.

"I don't know," America muttered. His tone was low and less than polite. He wouldn't even hold a gaze with Russia any longer. Instead he opted to continually stare at the tomb of that dead man. "I've got so much to do. There's so much to . . . reconstruct."

"There will be no humans there," Russia assured. "Just you and me. It is a place I've already prepared for you. I know you will like it. The sun never sets there."

That had piqued his interest. There was a small flare of curiosity in those eyes and the promise of a place that never went dark seemed likable to the American. But all too soon America frowned and glanced down, saying darkly—

"There is no such place."

"Da, but there is," Russia affirmed. He then held out his hand in invitation. "If you decide to come with me I can show you and then you will know I speak the truth."

America looked at him, then at his hand and then toward the tomb. He was unsure but slowly and ever so hesitant he reached out and gently placed his hand upon Russia's. Russia smiled and did as he promised: he took him to a place where the sun never set.

Alaska, Russian America. Summer of 1867

America had slept a majority of the months there in Russia's American home. Russia hadn't minded, in fact he was glad that the adolescent was constantly slumbering. It meant he was getting the proper rest he needed and it also left Russia with time to himself to be productive. Besides, Russia liked the look of the slumbering American. He was always so peaceful and beautiful when in the throes of dreams.

Of course he'd make sure the boy didn't sleep all of the time he was there. That just wouldn't do. When it looked like that was to be the case Russia made the choice to wake him.

"Alfred," Russia whispered as he gently shook the boy's shoulders. He'd been sleeping soundly for three months and Russia deemed it time for him to wake. "Arise and behold the sun. It's shining just for you."

The blond moved and moaned. His hair was a mess and his bed clothing all wrinkled from the continuous months in wear. When he sat himself up his hand blindly reached over and patted the lampstand next to his assigned bed. When his fingers found the glasses he had been looking for it wasn't long before the spectacles were sitting on his nose and ears and those blue eyes so beautiful looking at Russia through frames of glass.

"What day is it?" America asked with a low groggy voice as he rubbed his red eyes.

"It is the fourth day of the month of July," Russia answered.

It wasn't long before America's eyes widened, all traces of sleep erased. His stiff limbs even rejuvenated fast as he swung himself out of bed and rushed toward the wardrobe where his clothing was kept hung and neatly folded.

"Seriously? !" America gasped as he pulled out all of the nicer clothes he had brought with him. "Why didn't you wake me earlier? !"

After pulling on a nice dress shirt America had fumbled now with a black-lace tie that he cursed at for not tying right. In his shaking hast he nearly jumped out of his skin when a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder. Turning to look at Russia the European simply offered a pleasant smile.

"Calm down," Russia advised. He then turned the boy toward him and reached out, pulling the tie off around his neck and leaving a very confused looking American. "Since your national birthday is here then it's going to be a comfortable one. I don't want you dressed up for presentation. Besides, you're not in your mainland. You're here, with me."

"But I've always . . ." America looked at the dress shirt he was half wearing at the moment. He had yet to button up or even place the gold cufflinks on. Russia no doubt knew that the boy—no matter the bitterness of the harsh year—would always dress in the clothes of a gentleman and appear perfect before his people to celebrate his independence. But not this year. He was all Russia's and Russia wanted none of that for the sake of his healing.

"You can go back to sleep if you wish," Russia informed. "I only woke you so you would know of your day, but if you want to do something today I've prepared some activities that consist of horse riding, fishing, and hiking."

America looked tired. There were still dark circles under those eyes and Russia often wondered when they'd disappear. He didn't think they looked at all good on the boy's face.

With a sigh America took off his dress shirt and offered Russia a soft but weary smile.

"Alright, you're right. This is your house after all. Whatever you say goes," America spoke and then pulled out a plaid shirt and trousers.

"Da," Russia whispered before he turned and left America to dress himself. He was quite pleased when the American came downstairs in his casual attire. He rarely got to see him in such clothing because of the formal wear the nation adorns himself whenever a foreign power visits. It was a pleasant sight and Russia couldn't help but like the outfit better than the ones he was accustomed to seeing the boy dressed in.

The pants were tighter and hugged his hips closer. Russia in honesty didn't think that brown leather belt needed to act as a pant-holder. His long sleeves had been rolled up and a few top buttons were left undone. The shirt itself looked a little small on him and Russia noted it was the muscle the American had formed in the past few decades. It was a very nice look. His neck was thicker and his collarbone sturdier. Russia could see the boy's flexor and extensor muscles from the revealed arm and those little ones revealed the constant rein-holding and heavy-lifting the boy had been doing since their last meeting.

He was thickening out and Russia continued to find himself amazed by his youth. It really was a wonder how a nation so young grew so fast. Russia considered the boy truly blessed in every sense. His civil war seemed to not have hindered his growth in the slightest and Russia continuously thought of how the child had been made just for him.

_He knew what he was doing when he constructed him_, Russia thought to himself as his thoughts drifted back to the day General Winter had promised him a mate as gift for absolute loyalty. _He is taller than the others. His body-frame, thicker. He will not break if I touch him, especially not now. I am so very happy._

As they rode toward the lake where they were going to take up fishing Russia witnessed America's mastery with the horses. Firstly the American had easily rein, saddled, and mounted his appointed horse and when Russia's stallion became cranky the American was quick to his side to take up his reins and calm the beast down. Such a tamer. Even whilst still shouted out English commands the horses, though trained in the Russian language, somehow understood him and listened. Always with the amazements with him.

"You are very good with animals, Alfred," Russia complimented as they held their fishing rods against their sides and sat near the shore of the clear blue lake. "I didn't know what had gotten into my stallion and yet you knew exactly how to handle him. I was surprised, especially with him listening to you without the need for Russian words."

America smiled slightly and shrugged his shoulders. "Lately I've been trying to get to know horses better. They're pretty friendly when you get to know them. No matter if they're Spanish or Russian, a horse is a horse and respond to the same tone, you just gotta strike the right note."

"Oh, I see," Russia said with a smile before chuckling.

America rose his brow and then cocked his head to the side. "What is so amusing?"

"I just remember when you were so little. You and horses didn't necessarily get along," Russia mentioned with another laugh. "In fact you used to be quite frightened of them."

"W-Well I was little, what do you expect?" America defended with an embarrassed blush.

"It's a good change, Alfred," Russia said with a sure nod. "Make no mistake."

"Thanks." America smiled in return. But when Russia caught the sight of a frown from the corner of his eye he paid close attention to any unstable emotion that might show itself soon from the boy. "Hey . . . Ivan, can I ask you something?"

"Da, what is it?"

"Do you think I always change for the better?" America asked and looked at Russia with honest eyes wanting an honest answer.

Offering another smile Russia turned his gaze toward those eyes shining bright and beautiful like a pair of December topazes. The day was nice like he expected it to be. The cool breeze and the clear skies signaled a perfect day for a special birthday of a very significant nation. Why did America always have to ruin such nice days with his insecurities?

"To the victors change is good," Russia stated as his violet eyes gazed down where his fishing line remained still, waiting for a bite. He had yet to catch anything, the same with America. "To those who lost it is not. So which view shall we describe change?" When Russia offered a glance toward the blond he watched in seeing the boy looking at him with curious eyes and a willing spirit to learn. "According to your Union's victory you have thusly stayed the same; your states are united once more, your constitution upheld, and your territory expanding. I would say that is good while others would say it is bad. It depends on which approval you are looking for."

America nodded before his gaze fell down toward the line. The waters were still and the air around pleasant and refreshing, but even so Russia could feel the American's dark aura. He was still in a depression and would no doubt remain that way for a while.

"You cannot please everyone, Alfred," Russia informed. "Your right will always be someone else's wrong. It has been this way since the dawn of time."

He seemed to be taking every word to heart. Good. These lessons were better off informed first before discovered later by horrible incidents.

"I understand," America finally spoke as he turned his gaze toward Russia where they met with amethyst and sapphires. "But . . . as long as I can find approval with my friends then I can be happy."

There was that smile. Russia hadn't seen it in decades. It was that American smile that was completely and only Alfred's. Russia really wanted to cry tears of joy from seeing it again and his heart threw itself against his chest for the love of that look. Russia wondered if he had done it or if the thoughts of the boy had done it.

With a smile so contagious Russia couldn't help but smile himself. From the sheer happiness of seeing the boy smile again he could no longer hold the fishing rod properly. So, instead, he placed it down and then stood himself up.

"Well, it looks as if this lake will yield us no fish. How about we go for a short hike?" Russia asked, looking down at the boy.

He smiled that smile again and all too soon America tossed his pole and grabbed Russia's outstretched hand before following him along the trail marked out by ribbons on trees. Russia attempted to keep the walk lively with conversation but often found himself quieting because of the talks coming too close to the subject of recent civil conflict. So he tried to talk about anything beside the previous war which always disheartened the boy. It worked fine until a few hours passed and the time caught up with the boy.

"Where are we going, Ivan?" America asked as he glanced around and tried finding familiarity in their surroundings. "We've been walking for hours. Shouldn't we be heading back to the horses? It's getting late."

"I know," Russia informed. "But we're not far now and the horses have water from the lake and the grass surrounding."

"If you say so," America pouted as he crossed his arms.

Before long they had reached their destination. "Here we are," Russia announced.

"Nice view," America commented on the overlook he found himself on. One could see everything from up there; from the surrounding area to the lake below to Russia's home in the distance.

"What do you think of all of it?" Russia asked as he watched the American walk around to see the rest of the country around.

"It's very beautiful here," America offered in kind. "It's never too hot during the day. Tell me, what are the nights like?"

"Nights? What nights?" Russia asked as if he didn't even know the meaning of such a thing.

America's lips thinned out into a straight line.

"Why are you in such a jesting mood as of late?" America asked through muttering, turning toward the setting sun.

"You don't like it?" Russia asked with slight concern.

"Well, it's not that but . . ." America's attention waned. He had been watching the sun set for a good long while and it had yet to escape out of sight. His brow crashed together in confusion before he turned toward Russia. "Hey, Ivan. What is the hour?"

"I'd say past nine," Russia estimated.

"Past nine? !" America's eyes widened as he blinked a few times before looking at the sun. "Then why . . . hasn't it . . . set?"

"I told you that I'd take you to a place where the sun never set," Russia said with a smile as he walked closer to America and stood beside him to watch the sun still hang in the sky.

"Where the sun . . . never sets." America smiled and the glow of the dusk sun placed America in such a light Russia could have sworn he saw a glitter in the boy's eyes. Were those tears?

Perhaps they were since America then took off his glasses and began rubbing his eyes.

"Alfred, what is the matter?" Russia inquired once he saw the blond struggling with the sting in his eyes.

"Sorry," America apologized and shook his head. "I don't know what's come over me. This place, Russia . . . I really love it. Thank you so much for inviting me over."

"Da, of course," Russia said with a smile before he turned and walked over toward a small box that he had left the previous day. He opened it and then took out a match. When he turned he had once again caught the American off-guard with a small sparking rod in his hand.

"I-Ivan?" America was at a loss for words when Russia held two of them and then offered him one. Taking it up in his hands the sparks from the rod mad the blonde's eyes sparkle but the liquid in them might have added to that effect even more.

"It is tradition to use these to celebrate your birthday, da?" Russia asked with a smile. "I do know that the night amplifies their brilliance but forgive me, the sun doesn't seem to want to set on such a perfect day."

There was a startle in the ex-colony when the sound of a crack exploded behind him. He turned and watched as rustic colored fire rockets burst in the sky. Russia was very pleased with the reaction.

"I had the servants arrive and set them off for you," Russia informed. "Just like home, da?"

America was still silent. Instead of responding he continually looked on in bewilderment. His wide blue eyes reflecting the lights from the fire rockets. The sparking rod in his hand had long since run out of spark but he had yet to drop it.

Scooting forward, Russia leaned a little just to see what America's reaction currently was. He had been silent for a while and Russia's concern was coming back. When he looked at his face America had also caught sight of him looking and so the blond quickly turned and tried to hide himself.

"Alfred?" Russia asked. He had seen tears. Full flowing tears. "Have I done something wrong?"

When he heard a muffled sob Russia was more concerned now. Then a few sobs escaped into the loud and Russia about took hold of the boy to turn him and confront the issue, but he never got the chance. Instead America turned himself with a red face, puffy eyes, and runny nose. Completely bare with emotions but willingly revealing himself.

"Why do you continue to do this?" America asked, his tone intermixed with his whining sobs.

"Do you not like it?" Russia asked. He was confused. He had thought the American would like it; seeing how he was away from his own home on his extravagantly celebrated birthday.

"That's not the issue!" America said, shaking his head and then rubbing his eyes while in one hand he held onto his glasses. "You're always too nice to me when the others would just give up on me and my damn inexperience. Why? Why do you put up with me? I'm a baby compared to you. I've got nothing standing with me when beside you. I'm not supposed to even be able to look you in the eye because . . . because . . ."

"If you can't tell why I do this by now then I'm afraid I cannot help you," Russia stated with his shoulders slightly slumped. Could he really not tell after all of this?

America looked at him for a moment before closing his eyes and letting a new batch of tears fall down. With an inhale Russia reached out and rubbed his arm. "Stop crying, Alfred. I do not like the sight of your tears."

"I'm sorry," America said as he rubbed his head face. "It's just all too much."

"Then I am contemplating whether or not I should give you your present," Russia muttered aloud.

"Present?" America inquired. He blinked away the rest of his tears and wiped his leaking nose on his sleeve trying to compose himself before the older nation.

"Da," Russia said with a nod as he reached inside his vest and pulled out a document. "Forgive me. I have gotten it some time ago before your own approval, but I knew you'd like it so I will give it anyway."

When America took the paper into his hands he gasped. Looking back at Russia and then at the parchment he gapped.

"You . . . You . . . You're giving this to me?" America's hand was shaking now. His hard blue eyes were on Russia but such a look of disbelief was not the look Russia wanted.

"Da," Russia said with a nod. "Forgive me again for not informing you earlier, but I already talked with your Mr. Seward on it and we had reached a deal this past March. We wanted it to be a surprise for you on your upcoming birthday."

"But this is yours, your colony," America insisted. "If you give this to me then you wouldn't have any piece of the New World and I thought that everyone always wanted . . ."

"That's in the past now," Russia insisted as he rose his hand to calm the boy down. "Now it is I who am the guest in your home."

"You see? You always offer too much." Suddenly America was crying again. Russia frowned at the sight. He really didn't like to see him crying like this. He preferred smiles over that red wet face. But he assumed the American Civil War had damaged him to the point of loose emotional displays through turmoil.

"Aren't we friends?" Russia asked. He didn't want to get it into America's head that that was all he wanted to be titled as, but Russia was trying to ease him back into a stable state and anything other than suggested friendship might deter the boy from other emotions. "As your friend I want to give you these things."

"Friends don't do this. Least not to me," America said with a shake of his head. The boy had hard relationships. First with England, and then France, and then Spain. One after another his so-called friends turned against him—or was it he turning against them?

"This one does," Russia said as he pointed toward his own heart with a kind smile. He was glad that the American smiled back. "You will grow, da?"

America looked at him with confusion before Russia motioned a height growth with his rising hand.

"With more territory you grow?" Russia said. "That is good. I want you as big as me one day. This will help, da?"

America blushed and Russia wondered it was from embarrassment. "Y-Yeah," America responded as his eyes darted away from the empire. "But no one else likes it."

"I do," Russia said with a smile.

"Really?" America questioned.

"Of course. Why else would I give you this? I want you to grow. I want you to get stronger," Russia said. "You've just been through a hard passage in your national life but with encouragement and nutrients you'll heal. I am a strong empire. I crush many underneath me, but you are becoming strong, little Alfred. Perhaps one day we could arm wrestle. How much fun it would be!"

He wasn't crying anymore. He was smiling. His eyes were beginning to sparkle once more and it was all because of Russia's words.

"Truly, I thank-you, Ivan," America said softly as he held the signed parchment of territorial exchange close to his chest. "I couldn't have asked for more."

"Make sure you brag about my present to the others when you see them again," Russia jested with a chuckle.

"I will," America said with a chuckle of his own before finally realizing his sparking rod was cold and dim. "Hey, do you have more? The night's just begun!"

"Da," Russia said with a soft smile as he turned and lit more sparking rods.

The "night" had been long and filled with playing with fire rockets and sparkling rods. The tears were indeed gone and more smiles and laughs replaced them. That sparkle in America's eyes was returning, Russia could see it. He was so very happy he enjoyed his gift. He knew it would outshine anything else the young nation received from the others which is precisely why he had shown him the document of ownership on his birthday.

Since it was now officially America's home Russia noticed his prolonged stay. He could have gone back to his home in the mainland but the blond persisted in staying longer in the new land he had received and so many a day was spent on horseback or on trails exploring the new territory which Russia was all too glad to show him.

But sadly, and albeit oddly, America's smile did not last. Soon enough he was near to tears once more.

Sitka, Alaska. October 18th 1867

The transfer ceremony was a pleasant one, full of music, food and drink, and when the ships sounded off salutes through cannon fire it really got the American's heart to quicken. Standing next to America, Russia watched his smile brighten as American men came up to him and offered him his national flag.

"Come," Russia as he walked toward the flag pole on which his flag was flowing in the wind. Standing next to it he watched America, cradling his own star-spangled flag, come up and await the Russian's order.

Reaching up Russia began pulling his flag down and when unattached he allowed America to place his own flag upon it before they both pulled once more and hoisted the red, white, and blue flag overhead.

"There, now it is official," Russia said with a smile.

When he looked toward America the boy's eyes were wide and bright. His smile large and all white teeth were visible. He could practically hear his heart beating so fast. He was excited over the new territory and Russia wondered if it was because it was from him.

There were festivities all around. Russia had his people prepare food and drink for the upcoming Americans and they were all too happy to partake in them. Russia chuckled at the sight of a pouting America as a bottle of vodka was taken out of his hands just before it touched his lips.

"You're too young," Russia mentioned as he took a swing from the bottle of alcohol himself and just smirked at the blushing boy. But America had always been full of surprises so Russia really shouldn't have been so shocked that the boy was quick to snatch the bottle back and press it to his own lips and keep most of it down as he swallowed. He could see tears pricking at the corners of his blue eyes, but the boy kept it down and his men shouted out in pride before patting his back.

Impressed, Russia simply inclined his head in astonishment. Perhaps he'd one day have a drinking partner.

After that fun incident Russia watched the boy make a bet with his men and even the Russians surrounding. On the wooden bar sat fourteen empty glass bottles. He was making a bet to hit them all. Russia took no part in it but observed and watched in impressment as something once heard in his courts was confirmed: America was the best sharpshooter in the world.

In a flash the boy brought out his two revolvers that had been nestled safely on his hips and began firing away. He used no more than fourteen bullets and shot each of the glasses with ease. With the gun barrels smoking America twirled them on his fingers and blew the exhaust in Russia's direction. With a wink it was then Russia felt a burning in his own cheeks. If he hadn't known about the boy's naivety then he would assume he was being flirted with. Of course that was nothing he couldn't fix as he pulled his scarf over his nose and played aloofness about himself.

It did Russia's heart good to hear those laughs. To see those bright smiles forming on the boy's perfect plump lips. The shine in his skin was returning despite the oncoming winter weather. The sparkle in his eyes, why, it had returned since his birthday. He was near perfect again and Russia deemed his attempt at making it so a success.

He was very happy that his people supported his love for America. He didn't know what he'd do if they suddenly rejected his very heart. He frowned at such a thought and decided to push it from his mind as he focused on the festivities with the Americans. One of the games had been lifting bales of hay, each one becoming larger and heavier in size as the game was played on. Russia decided to show the American men how to lift a bale and smirked at their dumbfound faces. Of course it was all fun until America himself decided to join.

"Ha! I can lift those with one arm!" America toted and he was right. Russia was impressed but more so happy that his strength was returning to him. But of course he would have to show the boy who was stronger and how it should be. Picking up a larger bale that really only could be lifted by a tractor, America gapped. With a look of determination the boy found the largest bale he could find but Russia attempted to warn him about the unbalance of the large object. Of course his warnings fell on deaf ears and before long America went tumbling into Russia, their bales falling on top of them with their men having no means with which to fish them out due to their human strength. It was well though, both popped out of the jumbled stack with laughs and poking jests at their appearance.

"Ha, ha, it's all in your hair!" America chuckled as he reached over and began pulling the hay out.

"Yours too, Alfred," Russia mentioned and watched the boy swat them all out of his hair.

Russia then watched in silent fun as the blond attempted to stand himself up if only to lose his footing and tumble down the stack where he ended up on his back staring up at the skies above with an adorable laugh on his lips.

Russia managed to slide out easily and then stop next to him, leaning down to offer a hand of balance. America took it without another word and was whisked to his feet. Trying his best to wipe off the rest of the hay from his clothing he raised his arms to his men who raised theirs in return with shouts of triumph. Pleasing Americans was so simple.

Russia had caught a glance from his captain who gave him a look. With a frown Russia let out a sigh. Returning to the bar he took a bottle, poured a glass and gave it to the American. "Drink up," he said with one last pat on his shoulders. "Celebrate this day. This all is yours."

With that Russia walked off, his men falling in line behind him. He did not see the confused look on the American, nor his frown when he realized they were heading toward the ships. With no more word heard Russia and his men froze and jumped at the sound of gunfire. Russia jumped back, he could practically feel the ammunition fly past him. With wide eyes he watched as they hit their mark—the ship's sturdy rope ties were cut loose by sheer accuracy with a gun.

"What are you doing? !" Russia's captain exclaimed as he quickly ordered his men to try and catch the rope and tie a new one to it before the ship drifted off to sea.

"What are _you_ doing? !" America's shouting question was more directed toward the nation who stood in shock with the rest of his men. With guns against his shoulders Russia observed the boy's angry red face. So quick to change colors. "Was that supposed to be a 'Farewell'? Don't mock me, Ivan!"

"The light dims," Russia explained. "I better head out with my men before our ships run off course. Besides, I did promise to pull my men from this land since it is yours now."

"You can't just leave on this day. I forbid it!" America said as he turned his revolver down and shot off a warning fire near Russia's boot. Russia refused to jump away and he could quite literally feel the heat from that shot but refused to acknowledge it in front of the demanding America. In truth he wanted to stay, forever if he could, but he was a nation and as a nation he had duties. He had visited America too much and no doubt his Tsar would keep him in court for a few decades before he was even given the chance at another visit.

"So demanding, but so is my Tsar. I wonder which presides over the other," Russia said. America needed to understand but the look on his face seemed that he didn't.

"Just tonight, please stay one more night," America begged as he walked closer, his guns still in his hands but at the unease of the Russian shoulders the boy noticed and so placed them back in their holsters. "Please, Ivan."

"I can't," Russia informed and watched once more as the American bowed his head in sadness. He didn't like that look on him at all. "My Tsar made me swear to return today. I cannot remain away from my land any longer, Alfred. You too must return to your mainland as well. So many things happen in the human world and it is up to us keep tabs on all of it."

"It's not fair," America bitterly said, shaking his head and crossing his arms in distain. "I was having such a good time. You make my day and then ruin it. I hate it when you do that!" America turned hurt eyes toward Russia, but Russia had to refuse the clenching of his heart no matter how it hurt to see the distressed American like so. But he deemed the boy healed enough to take his early departure in proper stride.

"Stop being so selfish, Alfred. The world does not revolve around you." _But mine does_, Russia thought despite the words he'd spoke like the professional he was.

"It's because I enjoy your company the most," America admitted, casting his eyes down. "After the line failed I became sad. Even so, words on a paper can't compare to you in the flesh."

Russia smiled softly at the boy's affectionate words. He only wished they went deeper than a dear companionship. Perhaps then he'd stay just a little longer.

"What will I do with you, Alfred?" Russia asked with a tsk and sigh. "What would ever happen when one day I am gone and you are all alone? You cannot rely on others for companionship all of the time. Even their lives become engrossed with the times as yours will be soon enough."

"Why would you leave me?" America asked with concern in his features. "Have I been a disliked friend?"

"Nyet, that is not what I am trying to say to you," Russia said. He looked at his captain with an apologetic smile for the time waste but he simply could not leave the young country in such a confused state. "I am saying that you cannot rely on others all of the time. There may come a day when the entire world is your enemy. The only way to face something so daunting like that is to grow and become stronger than them. Do you understand?"

America didn't nod and when Russia placed his hands upon the boy's slumped shoulders he looked up at him with determined eyes but that determination feigned the moment their eyes met. He blinked a few times and Russia watched his face flush.

"I don't mind the world turning into my enemy. I _do_ mind you turning into my enemy though," America admitted in a series of mutters. Russia had barely caught it and before the boy shifted uneasily on his feet he looked to be trying to meet his gaze but for some odd reason every time those blue eyes met his they darted away quickly and the boy's face became more so redder. "I would have very serious problems with something like that," America said as his eyes glanced down toward his pointed boot and stared at the dirt he began digging up to take his mind away from the situation. "Because I always thought that . . . well you were always there for me even when I wasn't myself . . . and you've proved to me over and over again how loyal you are . . . and I . . . I want to repay you. So-So I was wanting to ask if you would . . . if you would like to . . ."

"Are you trying to invite me into a courtship?" Russia asked. He kept his manner and held himself well. He wasn't sure if that is what America had been trying to say, but all the signs were there and it sure sounded just like an invitation albeit a poorly worded and phrased one. Russia's heart was rolling inside his chest and he almost regretted asking. The boy never asked for a courtship, others always asked the young nation. So Russia could have easily mistaken what the boy was trying to say and if so then his heart would no doubt need some time to heal from the disappointment crashing upon it.

America froze. His shoulders pointed upward and nearly touched his red ears. His eyes were wide and still had yet to look at Russia directly.

"I know that I'm young and . . . well you said yourself that I'm just a child compared to you . . . but I . . ."

"You are very young," Russia agreed. His eyes narrowed on the boy's entire being and he pressed, making sure the boy even knew what he was doing. "This is very uncommon particularly because of the age gap. You realize that, da?"

America thinned his lips shut tight and nodded his head quickly.

"There are others more close to your age," Russia informed. "More suitable for you I would think."

Russia watched the boy's shoulders slump. Was he sad?

"I know," America replied in a soft low tone. "But I don't want to . . . enter . . . a courtship with them."

Russia's eyes widened. America was indeed inviting him into a courtship. Was he dreaming? Was this even real? The pounding of his heart said yes and so did the chill in the air that made Russia shiver. After so much time wooing the young nation in anxious silence America was finally reciprocating his affection.

"I know I'm still unstable," America continued as if he needed to excuse his faults when there in fact were none in Russia's eyes. "Because of that I'm not quite ideal, right? But my men told me what you did. They told me how you protected me in my lost state. They told me how you held me back from hurting those close to me. I hadn't even asked for your help but you helped when the others threatened to hurt me . . . when they neglected me. If you could do all of that for me then I knew you would be the one to be the one to stand true beside me in the future to come. So I thought—!"

When America's eyes met Russia's the older nation could no longer hold himself back. His gloved hand reached out and pressed gently against the boy's neck to hold him still as he leaned down and pressed his lips against his. Oh how long he had waited just to taste him and he was so very glad he did.

His lips were so soft and tasted of innocence. No doubt it was his first kiss. Russia cared less for the unannounced gesture. He cared less for the politeness of time. The time was now and so he acted.

When Russia made to pull back his body throbbed at the feel of the American leaning toward him, coming in again for another kiss. So Russia didn't deny him and greeted the boy's wanting lips with another, this one more passionate as his tongue parted the boy's lips and tasted from the inside of his cavern.

Russia placed his other hand on the boy's cheek and held his face still while he kissed him. He could feel the American's strong hands holding onto his wrists for dear life. Russia was not mistaken when he felt the boy attempting to return the kiss. Inexperienced as he claimed to be that would all vanish in time as Russia, himself, took on the duty to teach him how to kiss properly, how to touch him, how to love him.

Pulling away for air this time Russia planted another kiss on the boy's swollen lips. When he looked upon the boy's face he saw that deep flush across his cheeks and those blue eyes darkened with half-closed lids hanging above. The attraction was evident now and Russia now wondered how long the boy had felt this way toward him knowing it would have saved him so much tension from the wait.

"How long, Alfred?" Russia whispered against his lips and inhaled the very exhales of the boy pressed close to him. "Tell me."

America looked dazed and in another land but he registered the question and answered as asked. "Since the beginning of the Nineteenth Century."

Russia cringed. _That_ long? How could he have not known? Why hadn't the boy told him sooner?

Chuckling inward Russia figured it was a mistake on both their parts. Russia himself had been allusive to his feelings because of the other countries around. And now it seemed so had little America.

Looking into the boy's eyes a fire erupted and America's eyes slowly began to widen as he saw this heat in the Russian's gaze. No more was Russia hiding his feelings. He was baring them before America this very moment and if he couldn't handle them then he might as well start running now.

"Captain, let me stay tonight," Russia asked for the permission without breaking eye contact with the ex-colony. He needed the night with America. Fuck, he needed more than just one night. He needed millions, but one night would settle his trembling body. Just one.

"Nyet," the captain denied. "The Tsar has made it clear he wants you to return this day so you can arrive on his set schedule."

America's wanting eyes were killing Russia. The boy's hands were still on his wrists, holding tightly, informing him through body language that he wanted him to stay. Russia could hardly resist. He needed him now so very, very much.

Fine. If the Tsar so wished.

"I will return," Russia informed and watched the boy's eyes delve into his own gaze so to understand what he was saying. "When I do I will unite with you in every sense of the word. Only then will I declare our courtship official. My Tsar will be very pleased. He likes you very much."

America offered a smile but it was a sad one. Russia leaned down once more and kissed him farewell. As he pulled away in slow Russia once again looked into the boy's dazed eyes and said, "If you do not want this then you had best blockade my return because nothing will stop me this time from holding myself back from you."

In pleasure Russia watched the boy's face become redder. Through his reactions Russia knew he understood his meanings. Good.

His fingertips were the last to leave the boy; caressing from his ear over his cheek before falling away to Russia's side. It hurt to leave. So very much. His hands nearly broke the railing from the deck of the ship he accompanied as he watched the American upon departure.

America had clung himself to a post looking weak at the knees and Russia shivered knowing he made those knees weak. Knowing he was the one who made the boy blush like that. Who made his eyes dark with want and need. Knowing that the boy would soon open his legs to him. They would finally become one and America would know of his destiny to stand beside Russia. He would know.

"Bring me back to him soon, General, or else I will die," Russia gasped out as his fist clenched his vest and pulled, popping the buttons and ripping the seams. This time when a chilling winder rushed through him Russia smiled in acceptance. The old ghost was finally holding up on his end of the bargain.

He would return to his Tsar and inform him of America's proposal. That would hopefully cut a few decades of work from his presented schedule his Tsar would give him. In a way he was glad he was refused a night with the boy for he feared he'd never want to leave his side if that was all that was allowed to him.

His tension was high and finally America was ready to help in the relief. He's waited so long for this.

"Wait for me, Alfred. I'll return soon," Russia promised as his once North American territory vanished from his sight. He knew that America would take good care of his old home across the sea. It was there he would return to make love to him and he knew he'd be waiting.

Well, his waiting soul would wait no more.

* * *

**Daughter Of The Revolution****: song that inspired this chapter is "Find a Way" by 'SafetySuit'. Loves that song. Fit so well with the mood of this chapter :) Anyways, fret not my GerMerica lovers. I put that pairing in the summary for a reason. It'll come in time along with our History :D**

**History Time!**

**Midnight Sun is what it is called in Alaska and other countries where they have that effect. Around late June to early August the sun tends to never set, instead it hangs in the sky. Interesting effect which is why I had Russia take America there and show him the wonder that he's never seen before.**

**The Alaska Purchase [Seward's Folly]. Russian America (Alaska) was purchased by the Americans on March 30th 1867 so yays for new territory for the U.S. The Russians had actually been wanting the Americans to buy it. They thought about selling it to the British but decided against it because they didn't want them hanging around the Pacific too much and so they offered it to their buddies the Americans whom they knew would give the British a hard time, hardy-har. And they did. After Alaska was America's they down right claimed that part of the sea and actually seized over 150 British ships for sailing in "their waters". The Americans thought it was an internal sea while the British said it was International. The British later were right much to the Americans' chagrin. The Russians of course had been ready to begin bids for the territory for the Americans but then a little thing called the American Civil War happened and put that on hold but right after it was announced that the civil war was over them Russian were back again with quick negotiations thus resulting in the purchase of the territory only 2 years after the war.**

**Yays for Cowboy!America :D Yes, them cowboys were excellent sharp shooters in accuracy. Have you seen those gun-totin' riders? Amazing, simply amazing. Watch a gunslinger on Youtube and you'll know what I mean.**

**There was a Transfer Ceremony in Sitka, Alaska on the 18th of October that same year. The Russians ceremonially took down their flag and flew the American one and then their military left while a lot of missionaries stayed and a few Russian colonists, though most left because of the intimidating Americans who looked at Alaska like another piece of territory waiting to be settled. Those pioneers. **

**Also, the failed line that America had mentioned was the Russian-American telegraph line supposedly constructed from Seattle, Washington up British Columbia through Alaska and then to Siberia. It was an early attempt to link East-West operations in 1865. It never actually operated though. Sad.**

**So . . . **

**Just saying, Russia and America 'may' have been attempting a courtship around that time seeing how close the two countries were. That's about nonexistent now. I know, and it leaves everyone to wonder . . . "What happened?" Well, through History we'll find out. Stay tuned and leave a review. I love them so!**


	9. If Ever I Cease to Love

**Daughter Of The Revolution:**** Warning! Various character shifts in Point Of Views. Hoping I didn't make it too confusing for you guys, but now is the time to hear from everyone else's thoughts :)**

* * *

Nebraska Territory, United States of America. January 14th 1872

America chuckled and paid no attention as the Russian prince observed his reaction to the letter he had given him.

"I am sorry for not having delivered it earlier. It had slipped my mind over the rushed visit," the Russian prince, Grand Duke Alexei, explained his apology.

America hadn't really cared for the apology. As long as he finally got the letter and his eyes were able to skim over the letters of words that Russia had written himself for only his vision to behold. It wasn't a lengthy letter nor was it short but it was enough in explaining why he hadn't accompanied the Grand Duke and fulfilled his promise of visiting again. Though the thought of such a foretold visit would make the American nation's face turn a complete shade of red he composed himself well this time and smiled like a young swooned adolescent. And that he was.

_My dearest Alfred,_

_You must forgive my lack of presence with my young dashing Duke's entrance into your country. As Mary was a virgin upon Christ's birth so too had I packed all my belongings and readied to board the Bogalye when rumors of trouble in the Balkans arose. Now you know me, dearest Alfred; I wouldn't have cared if the whole world fell apart if only I could see you again. But my Tsar persisted I investigate and so with a heavy heart I watched the squadron meant to spirit me away into your arms leave my ports. I am very sad right now as I write to you, but it is well in my dreams._

_Tonight I will dream of your borrowed paradise; the one where the sun never sets. The skies are always blue, and the sunflowers form row after row of unending golden oceans. There we are; you in my arms and I holding you tightly. We are both very warm and very happy. Especially you. No more do you look haunted, no more do you look malnourished, no more do you look sad. _

_Instead of pointing that beautiful face toward the ground it is pointed up and gazing at the sun. Just like the sunflowers surrounding. Come to think of it, you often remind me of those giants. Wouldn't you think so, Alfred? Moi padsOlnukh, yes I like that very much. Confused by the phrase? Well then, why don't you learn a little Russian for me, padsOlnukh? It would give me great pleasure hearing my native tongue come out of your mouth, so much pleasure. _

_Well, now that you know of my reason for prolonging my actual visit I shall excuse myself and assist my Tsar with his concerns. Know that I shall think about you, Alfred, and of the opportunity I have missed. I shall make sure to hear every detail from Alexei about his stay with you. But know for certain that when I find the time where my presence isn't as strongly needed in my courts and territories I will slip away from my people and come to you, whether night or day matters not, but in our fated meeting I will take your hand and hold you close and kiss you with all my passion, only then will we come to bed where I will make love to you and our bodies shall become one. It is I who will show you the wonders of national unity._

_Wait for me, moi padsOlnukh. Keep your head up toward the sun and continue to grow. I expect a fully bloomed bud by the time I arrive._

_With love that knows no end,_

_Ivan Braginsky_

There was a faint blush on America's cheeks and he had to steady his horse as it trotted down a hill with a few boulders around to disrupt an easy walk. Placing the letter to his lips he caught ear of something. Turning he noticed the Grand Duke to his left smiling away. He probably knew about Russia and his upcoming announcement of courtship. But it wasn't the Grand Duke who had caught his attention. America's eyes scanned just a little ways behind the royal to see one of his men scribbling away with a small pencil and paper in hand. At first one might think he was writing about his experiences in the West but America's eyes were sharp even without Texas and he knew immediately that the pencil wasn't making any such jot markings, but more along the ways of curved lines and etched reality.

He was sketching him.

"Hey!" America gasped. His face was now full blown red as he turned the reins of his horse and lightly prodded his steed with the tips of his spurs to urge the horse to trot over to the little hotshot Russian artist.

"Ah, that now belongs to Russia," Grand Duke Alexei informed as he purposely moved his own ride in front of America to hinder his trek toward the artist riding near the Russian prince. "He asked for this artist to capture a sketch of you to show him upon our return. He wants to see your current state and stature."

"I'll pose for him when we get back to the Fort, just don't show him _that_ picture!" America protested, once again trying to maneuver around the prince who was still shoving his horse in his line of securing an embarrassing portrait for the Russian Empire to see.

"I am certain he'll want to see this one. It captures your unguarded moment when reading his letter of declared love," Alexei said.

"You!" America's blush burned his ears as he stuffed the letter into his heavy coat while a cold gust of wintry wind rushed past the caravan as they hauled their persons and cargo consisting of numerous buffalo kills back to one of his forts secured in his territory. "Since when did Ivan tell you?"

"A majority of the royal family already know about his _reservations_ for you," Alexei informed. "My father is very anxious for the official announcement of the courtship."

"Yeah, well why won't he allow Ivan to visit then?" America asked, muttering in disdain.

"Are you ready for him?" Alexei inquired his eyes looking quite serious than usual his playful demeanor just moments earlier.

"I . . ."

"Have you prepared yourself for his unification on a national level?"

"Uh . . ."

"When he arrives he has discussed no concerns of conversing with your leaders nor exploring your newly acquired territories. He means to become one and then share of the experience with the world."

"I know, alright!" America nearly shouted, startling a few of his men riding close to him. His shoulders raised to his ears and he opted to pull his scarf up closer around his nose but no matter how hard he tried to hide himself and no matter if his men ignored their nation's discomfort with a subject regarding such intimate matters the Russian prince continued to look at him and continued to see right through him.

"You are a young nation, Amerika," Alexei said with a smile signaling understanding. "No doubt untouched by any other country, besides your parenting nation."

"Yeah," America muttered, turning his gaze toward the prairie before them and on the far-off sight of the fort in the distance.

"Then it is understandable to be nervous," Alexei said, this time trying to make it sound as if America's uncertainty was right among his national standing. "But you have nothing to be afraid of. Ivan likes you very much. He will take great care of you."

America said nothing. He didn't look at the Grand Duke, nor his men. He kept his words as little as possible when they entered the fort and dismounted and unloaded all of their belongings.

"Here, Bill." America offered his saddle for his partner to take away. After wiping his hands from the dirt he took off his gloves and shoved the leather articles under his arm. He stood straight when the Grand Duke and his personnel walked away from their steeds. When the Grand Duke expected to walk past the country in silence America spoke up.

"Would you be willing to deliver Ivan a letter personally?"

Grand Duke Alexei turned and nodded. "Of course I will," The Russian said.

America said no more and simply inclined his head before excusing himself and heading back into the fort to no doubt write a personal message that the Grand Duke found himself very curious about and hoped that in no way the American had suddenly decided to change his mind about their upcoming officiating courtship.

He suspected the boy was of course young and therefore not used to letting the world know about relationships whether they be friend or lover. In fact most royal humans knew about the complexity of national relationships and the sheer and strict no privacy it had on the rest of the world. Nothing stayed a secret for long and when Russia and America finally consummated their relationship then the world would know and know every single detail at that.

They'll find out how long Russia had been attracted to the young ex-colony, and vice versa. They'll find out who offered the courtship. They'll find out where it was consummated. They'll find out everything and in the end they'll begin to make bets on how long it would last. And, worst case scenario, if there be a few jealous nations—Grand Duke Alexei could name a certain sister nation right off the top of his head in that moment—who found themselves in disagreement with the coupling they could either start a war, create an isolation, or fight for one or the other nation to have for themselves.

It really was a cruel life for nations. Alexei knew this and he wondered if America did too. The boy was just so young and inexperienced. He feared for his high expectations. But more importantly he feared for his own nation's sanity. Did Russia even know what he was getting himself into?

What would happen once the courtship was made official and all too soon a challenge was brought up? Alexei could guess his nation not to be too happy. He's known for Russia's long time affection for the boy nation. Alexei highly doubted he'd let a competitor tear him away or America away any time soon. But the worst thought came to the Grand Duke after he had left the high plains with America's letter in hand, sealed for authenticity. He became concerned with what was written in the letter.

He did not want to return to his home only to give his love-struck nation a letter from a nervous little child who frankly couldn't handle the pressure of a world-known courtship. Russia would be heartbroken and when he was he . . . became . . .

Alexei decided to think more optimistically. But the entire journey home nearly weighed his heart into his stomach, especially when he came face to face with his nation.

St. Petersburg, Russia. December 1872

Russia couldn't help but let his smile reach his eyes. The picture was perfect. It captured the very unbridled affection the boy so claimed to have had for him. The pencil sketch really did no justice to the American's image though and he had wished he had been there in person to see it, but the light marks on the boy's cheeks made by the artist were indicated to be the subtle tint of a blush.

Beautiful, it really was.

"So you said he was taller, da?" Russia inquired of his journey-worn prince who nodded in reply as he lounged in a satin chair near his brothers and father who gathered to hear his tale.

The Grand Duke let out a weary sigh and nodded again. "Da," he answered and then raised his hand. "Came up to here to me."

"Good, good," Russia nodded and continued to trace the sketched features of the boy who looked to be pressing his written letter to his lips.

"Oh, and, he wanted me to give you this." Grand Duke Alexei stood up and with unsure steps handed over the sealed letter to his nation. His father and brothers watched closely as Russia broke the seal and began reading it.

Alexei had thought he had been the only one holding his breath but when he looked toward his brothers and father who looked quite nervous as well he realized he was mistaken. If this all ended horribly he would blame his father. It was he who kept Russia's pending sealing visit from the American nation longer than necessary. He had a chance to come with him on his journey, he really did, but his father always became too nervous when Russia left for any length of time. He always grew concerned with rumors of unsettle and war.

His breath rightly caught in his throat as he watched Russia still himself. He no longer cared for looking toward his siblings and father because he knew they were possibly just as pale as he.

"Ivan, is . . . everything well with the young Amerika . . . on national terms?" Tsar Alexander quietly asked, leaning forward in his seat.

When a smile appeared on Russia's face everyone let out long held-in sighs of relief. Many had hoped for an eventual chance at some sort of an alliance with the rising power in the western hemisphere. If it meant courtship then so be it. The closer the relationship the better.

"Why, Alexei. You had failed to inform me of the song my little Alfred had written for me," Russia said as he showed the letter that offered a side note of smaller written words signifying the lyrics of some tune.

"He had?" Alexei asked as he stood up and came closer to read the words before he smiled. "Oh, yes! That song. It was a very lovely one, one of my favorites. He sings very well."

"Such a shame, I wish to have heard it myself," Russia mentioned before offering a glare toward his Tsar who merely rubbed his sweating hands on his pants.

"I had no idea it was for you," Alexei said with a smile and now found himself glad in knowing that the boy's love for their nation was true. Even though young and pure he was certain it would become hard as stone and tough to wear down.

"He promises to sing it for me when I come," Russia said and then turned to his Tsar. "You would grant me that trip one day, da?"

"Da," His Tsar said but then reminded him of the turmoil in Europe. "Only after disputes have settled down. I still can't believe you agreed with the young child becoming a nation. Absurd. Absurd I say!"

"Oh, you mean the unification of the German states?" Russia asked after remembering what had happened just a little over a year ago, almost two years. "Germany is young and inexperienced. He still has his big brother tossing him around on strings. I only said I agreed to make him feel better. I will keep an eye on him, no doubt. But I cannot keep my eyes on him for long if I am to look on my beloved, whom I will see soon, da?"

With every pressing question Russia's gaze darkened at his Tsar, letting him know just how badly he needed America and if he wasn't relieved of the stress and tension soon then the people would pay for it.

New York City, United States of America. 1882

"Ludwig, Gilbert? !" America couldn't believe his eyes. One moment he was standing behind the registration counter numbering the immigrants and the next moment he was looking over to see how far the line stretched when up came his old friends.

Jumping over the desks America was too quick to run right into Prussia's arms. He had nearly toppled the older state over from his speed and sheer size. He was nearing his height if not just that.

"Mein gott, you've grown, Alfred!" Prussia exclaimed in surprise as he pet his head with a wide grin. "You're becoming a giant!"

"Thanks," Alfred said with a chuckle before he felt the white-haired nation touch his glasses.

"These are new," Prussia observed with a smile before taking them off and squint his eyes to look through it. "Since when do you wear spectacles? Modeling after Austria much?"

"No, I'm modeling after myself," America complained as he snatched the glasses away and hugged them close to his chest. He didn't like when anyone messed with Texas. It was just plain rude.

"Verzeihen sie mir, verzeihen sie mir, Alfred," Prussia excused himself before his smile brightened and his ruby eyes turned to his right. "But look! Ludwig's grown just as much!"

Alfred's blue eyes landed on the boy's form. Prussia's little brother was a boy no more.

"Wow!" Alfred gasped as he took in the younger German's form; High black boots shining, golden cufflinks and lace, white satin draped around him. He looked more formal than Prussia who was garbed in simple blacks and silvers.

The little boy he had met back at Russia's masquerade in the early 19th century was now grown up and . . . was he his size? His jaw now squared, his arms and thighs thick with muscle, and his chest obviously much more broader than America's.

"I'm glad that you approve, Alfred," Ludwig said with a much more confident smile. If America remembered correctly every time he'd compliment him about anything—whether it be his stature or the way he rode a horse—his cheeks would fade a little pink and he'd excuse the compliment like he never had said it. America liked this surety in him so much better.

"Sorry for not keeping in touch too well, but I've been busy these past few decades," America admitted but only watched as Prussia grinned in pride and slid his elbow across Ludwig's arm.

"Nothing too much happened on our end, expect little Luddy here becoming an official nation," Prussia announced. Just as soon as he had, his little brother's face turned red, more likely out of frustration over his brother's nickname of him.

"What? !" Alfred's eyes popped and his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose to rest upon his nostrils. When his eyes met Ludwig's the blond nodded and offered a satisfied smile. "That is AMAZING!"

In the blink of an eye America had his arms wrapped around the boy's thick neck and squeezed until no air could get through. After hearing the blond choke America had enough sense to pull away, though of course not far. His face was still close and his eyes sparkling as he beamed with pride at this new nation before him.

"What is your name? What is your national name?" America wanted to know. The becoming of a nation was always so exciting and America always feared he had been born too late in the world to witness such historical astonishments.

"The German Reich, or, as you would call It, the Empire of Germany," Ludwig informed with a proud smile. His shoulders spreading and his jaw rising a little more upward as his body notably filled with the pride of it all.

"So, Germany it is," America said as he pulled back and began trying the name on his own tongue. "Germany . . . Germany. How does it sound?"

"From you? It sounds perfect," Ludwig, no, Germany said with a sure nod. "But you can still call me by my human-given name."

"But it's really cool when someone calls you by your national name. It's the recognition, the glory, the honor. It's just amazing. Right, Germany?" America had failed to notice the light pink dusting the new nation's cheeks as he quickly turned toward the sound of Prussia's voice.

"Ja, ja, it feels wonderful," Prussia agreed and pulled America along before pushing him into a room nearby barren of any person. "Now wait in there a little while."

"Wha—?" The door was closed before America could protest or settle his confusion to protest for that matter. He hadn't understood why Prussia would do this to him but then again he hadn't had the opportunity to see Prussia turn to his brother after he had shut him in the room.

"Alright, you've held up your end of the bargain now I'll hold up mine," Prussia informed with a wink to his baby brother. "I'll recognize your courtship and it will become official to the world. Now go and tell him."

"But, what if he doesn't understand?" Germany asked, his cheeks pinker by the second. "The last time I asked for his hand he didn't seem to understand what I was wanting of him."

"He was young, of course he wouldn't," Prussia assured. "You can see he's grown some. He's more mature than all those years ago. Just try, you'll see."

No matter what, Germany protested after having the late case of uncertain self-conscious rise up in him at the last moment as Prussia pushed him toward the room and quickly shoved him inside before closing the door.

"Your brother's odd," America stated, making Germany turn toward him to notice the boy was standing near the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Ja, I know," Germany said as he cleared his throat. "But he means well."

"I guess." America shrugged his shoulders before looking at the German curiously. "Is there something you want to speak to me about?"

"Perhaps," Germany said, his eyes turning from America. Again with the uncertainty even after he'd beaten the odds and become an official nation.

"Perhaps?" America chuckled. "Don't tell me you and Gilbert sailed hundreds of miles here just to take a look and then leave."

"Nein," Germany said, raising his hand to halt the boy's chuckles. It was more than just a visit, at least which was what Germany wished. "Firstly, it was to inform you of my . . . accomplishments. To accompany my people whose desire was to emigrate here and to give your promised opportunity a try I found it useful and opportune for that informing, and, ja, it was an excuse to come and see you."'

"And the surprise visit was a pleasure, believe me," America said with that beautiful smile of his. "So how long is your stay? Have a set schedule yet? If not I've got lots of activities in mind, like—"

"Secondly, it was in honesty to ask you something. Something I had asked once before but never had the qualifications of accomplishing such a task."

America looked at him quizzically. The young German nation came closer to America. His form straightened and he looked the ex-colony in the eye. There was a small silence and America glanced down at the feel of the light brush of fingers touching his own. It was Germany. He was reaching out and ghostly taking a hold of his left hand before his other hand took up the other.

"Some decades ago a very little boy was beguiled by a young aspiring child. This child was so very smart, so very strong, so very free. So free I was afraid I wouldn't be able to catch him."

"Why would you want to catch someone who is free?" America asked softly. The sound of his voice and choice of words signaled to the other blond that he in fact knew the subject of Germany's little story and its hinted meaning. "Bondage is never good."

"Ja, but he was such a pretty thing. Something worth locking away and showing off to the rest of the world," Germany explained with a light smile. "So I often wondered if he would be free like that by my side."

Oh no.

America's eyes shined in understanding before his brows crashed together. He looked down and knew his frown would not make the German any happier. Pulling his hands away was hard but it was necessary.

"Forgive me, but I'm afraid I must decline your offer, Germany," America said as formal and polite as possible. Rejection from someone so longing; it was never a good thing.

"What, why?" Germany asked. He looked startled. Confused at most. It was as if the concept of a rejection hadn't been thoroughly thought through. It was as if he had never been denied anything in his known existence and so the mere coming of the setback was baffling if not more of a mysterious anomaly to the German. "I have done what my brother has asked. He said in order to properly court another nation I had to become one myself. I have and I have become strong. I can protect you, I can trade with you, I can give you everything. Why am I not good enough?"

When America looked up at him he smiled apologetically, sadly, almost shamefully and rubbed his dry hands together.

"I'm already taken." Germany's eyes widened in shock at America's reply.

"When, and who?" He asked. Knowing that no one knew; it was understandable to realize why the German nation was so confused the announcement. But it was the truth.

"I'm sorry," was all America offered. His phrases were blunt and his sentences to the point. He had no flowery speech to offer Germany or any explanations as to why he had no accepted him and why he had accepted another. It was as it was and there was nothing America could do about it. And he most certainly wasn't one to betray his promised. Never.

Germany looked upset. Very upset. But it was a sad upset and not an angry upset. America remembered his first proposal. He had been visiting Prussia, staying at his home and playing with Ludwi—Germany, it had been one of his numerous visits, and Germany, after supper, had invited him into the study and there he had taken his hand and asked for his permission to court him. America wasn't stupid. He knew what the boy had been asking but he had just been so caught off guard and dumbfounded that someone had asked _him_ that he couldn't speak. Prussia apparently had been near, as he usually always was when Ludwig was seeking time alone with America, and had heard what his brother had asked in his intended privacy with the ex-colony. Privacy interrupted, Prussia was quick to come into the study and proceeded in separating to the two boys, afterwards speaking with his brother about the matter and apologizing to America.

So now he had been asked again by Germany. It was unexpected, and like America had informed earlier: too late. Throughout the years America had been asked by many nations for his hand in courtship. This occurrence caused him to grow a need for understanding the term and meaning. But after coming to fully understand its meaning on national and intimacy terms and levels it hadn't been long before he realized he had actually _wanted_ a certain nation to ask this of him. It never came and he never dreamt of the situation forcing himself to do the asking and in all swelling heart his realized desire had accepted. America couldn't be more happy. He knew he'd probably hurt if he had been rejected and so his heart truly went out to Germany.

"Who is it?" Germany asked once more. He was demanding and America was uncertain if it was necessary to provide the name. But what he knew for certain was that Russia had said it wasn't yet "official" and so he figured he might just want to wait until . . . until . . . until Russia himself announces it.

"You'll know when he announces it," America said as he rubbed his arm uncomfortably, finding the air now awkward and too silence and thick.

Germany nodded, his eyes glancing down, unreadable. After a moment he fixed his form. He held himself high and offered a bow in polite-kind. "Then if you would excuse me. It has been a pleasure to see you again, America. It does my soul good to see your growth and continuous health. Farewell."

"Eh, Ludwig, wait!" America cried out as he ran after the German who had turned to leave the room. His hand had just turned the doorknob when America caught a hold of him by his sleeve and for once more caught his gaze. "Don't tell me you sailed hundreds of miles just to ask me . . . it couldn't be just that."

Ludwig gently pulled his sleeve away without further offense and stared into America's eyes.

"Ja, it was."

Before America could spit out more excuses to keep his unexpected guest still, the German had pressed onward and left the room. Upon exiting the door Prussia approached them with a proud smile but it faded upon the sight of his brother's face and that of America's desperate distress and discomfort. When his ruby eyes glanced toward America the young boy had to avert his gaze and when Prussia looked down at his brother he caught hold of his shoulder and began conversing with him in their native tongue. America's German wasn't that good and so he caught only a few words, but if he had understood he would have heard Prussia ask—

"What happened?"

"Nothing," Germany said, turning his gaze away from his older brother.

"Really? Then what's with that face? What happened?" Prussia persisted.

"Nothing!" Germany shouted. He didn't seem to care that America was watching and was startled by the sudden escalade of vocal volume, especially between close siblings. "He said he's already been taken!"

Prussia was silenced by the news and when his eyes glanced toward America, who looked like he was concerned with their shouting at each other. With his lack of knowing what words they were yelling at the other Prussia sighed for the young adolescent nation. Then Prussia turned back to his brother and offered him a sorry frown.

"Did he tell you who?" He asked.

"Nein!" Germany shouted. "But this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't held me back from courting him!"

Germany then stomped off in anger more gravitating toward his brother's past hindrance of a promising suitable relationship. Prussia called for Germany to stay but he didn't listen. He turned toward America who looked at him with concern.

"I am sorry for all of this, Alfred," Prussia apologized. "But he . . . he really liked you."

America nodded his head downward. He knew but he had thought that it had feigned. He thought that it was nothing more than a childish crush. They were both so young anyways.

Cut from his train of thoughts by a sudden, "Farewell," by Prussia, America's eyes widened and his mouth gapped as he watched the nation chase his little brother toward the docking area.

"Wait, you can't leave! Not when you just arrived!" America called out, watching his old friends walk away as if they hadn't been there mere minutes ago. "Please!"

America chased after them and managed to catch them just as Prussia hopped onboard a ship to catch a hold of his brother's shoulders and pull him into a tight embrace. Germany was red-faced now. There was a slight glimmer in his eyes; they looked to be the forming of tears.

He was shouting again, pushing at his big brother, but Prussia held fast and didn't let him go.

"We're not going to leave, you hear?" Prussia whispered to his baby brother. "I know you want to but it isn't polite. We've traveled all this way. You'll insult Alfred if you leave. Think of his honor."

"What about my honor? !" Germany finally succeeded in pulling away from his brother and staring him in the eye defiantly. "Rejection? After I shamelessly defeated France? After I was even recognized by the Russian Empire? How can someone like me recognize this concept of rejection? I can't and I can't be near him now. He doesn't want me here."

Prussia narrowed his eyes. His lips drawn out in a thin line before he nodded. "Fine," he said. "Since you're so accomplished then you can sail home by yourself. It's not like you need me, right?"

Germany narrowed his eyes before those blue eyes glanced toward America's form who waited patiently on the docks looking anxious and concerned more than most. Turning his gaze away quickly Germany stuttered and finally turned from his brother. "Ja, I don't," he said.

Prussia said no more. He rose his hands in surrender and offered a polite bow before leaving the ship and joining America back on the docks.

"You're leaving?" America asked with concern and hurt in his eyes.

"Ludwig is," Prussia informed with a sigh. "I'm sorry about this. Just let him go."

America glanced down and Prussia was startled when he saw a glisten in the boy's eyes.

"Eh, are you going to cry, Alfred?" Prussia asked as he put his hands on the boy's shoulders.

"I really messed up," America whined as he blinked rapidly to hide his hurt expression. "I'm a bad host. I always have been!"

"Nein, nein, nein, Alfred!" Prussia gasped, pressing closer and rubbing the boy's back. "That's just . . . you know what Ludwig is like. He's always had this temper. This is just one of the times you've seen it. It's hard to handle is all."

America nodded but he knew it wasn't just the temper. He really didn't want Germany to leave but he did and so the visit consisted mostly of himself and Prussia. It was a pleasant visit but without Germany their conversations were short and their visitations dull. Prussia had already seen most of his sites before, especially on the east coast and there wasn't enough time to travel to the west coast and so it had become less adventurous and dare he say awkward, especially when Prussia had begun asking about his secret courtship.

In the end Prussia had left without a name and no more clues as to who it was than Germany had. So Alfred became afraid what the rest of the world would think and the insecurity ate away at him. He wanted to express his concerns to Russia via letters but he became afraid to even let him know about it. He was afraid to let him know he was . . . scared.

But even through the fear of known insecurities, the first chance America had to go himself to see Russia he took it, even if other countries would be there.

Tientsin, China. June 26th 1900

Tired and worn, yes, but still America felt he was obliged with cleaning his marines' guns after all the hard work they had done. So there he stood, placing the pieces of his men's guns down on the ammunition crates before him and skillfully cleaning out the necessary compartments. He had just taken up another rag and dipped it into oil when something had knocked into him from behind thusly causing the rag to escape his fingers and his elbow to bump into the cup of oil and leave it spilling over the side of the crate.

Now America's first reaction would be to elbow the being behind him and hope to hit either gut or nose. He'd had enough with the damn Boxers lately and he wasn't willing to let his men down by being the one who was snuck up from behind and ambushed, but America declined those first thoughts when the being behind him had leant down, bending their body over him, and offering a chaste kiss just under his ear. America closed his eyes and took in the moment and the feeling therein. A smile was quick to appear and suddenly his energy returned to him as he turned around and wrapped his arms around that scarfed Russian neck.

"You startled me, Ivan," America informed with a pout that didn't seem to coax any guilt into the nation holding him close. "What if I had thought you were a Boxer come to take me out?"

"No mere mortal can extinguish the United States of Amerika," Russia praised as he lowered his head and once more kissed the American on the neck.

America smiled and leaned into the touch of lips against his skin. When Russia pulled back America revealed his soft-based emotions before the nation when before he couldn't look at him like this, at least not in front of the others. His eyes darkened in color as had the Russian's violet gaze and it wasn't long before the few seconds of eye intake got to the both of them and left the result in the clashing of their teeth and tongues.

America's nostrils flared as he tried his best to take all of the air needed through nose only. He didn't want to pull away from Russia and he was most certain that Russia didn't want to pull away from him.

The Russian never had gotten the opportunity to leave Europe, but conflicts in Asia had moved him closer toward the east and it has moved America closer as well. Despite knowing that many other European powers would be there in Asia as well, America did not skip the chance to board a ship, take a few marines with him, and head toward China where he finally got to see Russia again. Of course the presence of the other countries, especially England's presence, had swayed the two apart for appearance's sake it had not however stopped their internal longing.

After England's proposed Seymour Expedition, Russia and America had agreed to follow. Everything was professional and polite. Those few glances caught by America or Russia offered a promise of embrace. It never came from the disastrous expedition and because of so it left them both frustrated with the British Empire and the lack of time for private matters.

Now that they had finally sent out help and said relief arrived they were able to return to the city and recuperate. Everyone looked forward to it but it seemed Russia couldn't wait upon return to the city or for an invitation to the American. It was an unexpected visit by the nation but America welcomed him nonetheless knowing that the two wouldn't get this sort of a chance upon the march back.

Despite America's best try in attempting to breathe through his nostrils he had to pull back and suck in larger amounts of oxygen. With his eyes closed, his mouth hanging, and a pleasantly burning flush etching across his cheeks and down his neck, America wondered what the Russian thought of his physical display. He thought he might have laughed at his vulnerable state or something akin to the jokes he'd normally get but it wasn't anything or the sort. Instead he felt the Russian press his lips against his own again, taking all of the breath he had managed to secure earlier.

America felt Russia pressing closer and he was to the point he was bending him in half over the crate. That's wasn't too pleasant on his back and so he reached down and pushed until his body found the support to lift itself upon the crate and cradle Russia. With knees pressing against the Russian's hips they were all too inviting and America felt Russia's hands caress his hips before deepening their kiss and raising his body temperature.

"Oh! Uh, sorry, mates. Didn't mean to disturb ya."

America's face was more red and burning all the greater than it had when displaying heated affection for the Russian over top him. He quickly pulled his lips away and his arms pushed Russia away just fast enough for his knees to pull back and smack together.

"Ah! England, what are you—? !" America stopped in his startling embarrassing rant after thinking his previous parent nation had caught him with his secret lover. Why? Because it hadn't been England at all. The accent had thrown him off. He had thought that it had been the Brit but after looking at the interrupter he realized it had been nothing of the sort. It was a young man with brunette hair and England's eyes.

America had seen the adolescent before but frankly paid no mind to him. He was close to England when they marched, when they fought, when they retreated. He had possibly thought him to be some prodigy youth general, but that was impossible. Though now as he looked at him he realized something else . . .

He was a colony.

"Hey, wait!" America shouted as the blushing boy turned to vanish from the ammunitions entrance. He stopped and turned back to them. His eyes averted from embarrassment of what he had witnessed. He looked like he wanted to leave and if America had thought him to be some mere British trooper then he would have despite his command, but he was staying and America realized it had been because he had seniority as a nation.

Walking closer America took in the boy's appearance. His uniform was slightly different than the typical British attire. He also seemed thicker than England and America had no doubt he'd continue to grow.

"What's your name?" America asked.

"I'm the British Colony of Australia," He answered, his green eyes finally coming up to look into his own as America stared down at him.

Australia. Suddenly, America was taken back nearly a hundred years to that Russian masquerade ball where England had informed him as his new status as "big brother." This kid right here . . . he was the one who had changed his standing as only child to an older sibling. This was England's second son.

"Australia." America smiled and nodded. He was quick to reach out his hand and offer it to the boy. It was slightly humorous to see those green eyes widen at the sight of the held-out hand inviting his own to take. When he looked back up America saw confusion in those eyes, so he offered once more a, "It's nice to meet you. I'm the United States of America, a pleasure."

Uncertainly Australia took the hand and left America to initiate the shake. After so Australia looked up at him quizzically.

"No other country's ever shaken my hand before," he informed the blond country who happened to be his older brother unbeknownst to him. "Much less looked at me like you do," the brunette added.

When before, America would have gotten upset at the thought of it, he understood with a nod of his head. Being a child of England, well, the empire made sure that no other nation could so much as glance at you without the threat of a war or seclusion. That was just how England parented. He wanted his children's chastity secure and their imaginations limited. What he saw, they saw. What he believed in, they believed in. Simple as that.

America was so glad he had broken free when he had the chance.

"Amerika has the reputation of looking at everyone, nation or territory, with equal respect," Russia added where he leaned against a crate with his arms crossed and a pleased smile on his lips. "That's just the way he is."

"And proud of it," America said with a wink and a thumbs-up. It was cute watching the boy blush once more. He looked enthralled of the growing nation before him. The blush was back and his eyes sparkled at America's radiance.

"So what did you need in here?" America asked knowing that was why the boy had walked this way.

"Oh, uh, um. I was—I was told to collect some cartridges," Australia informed as America patiently waited out his stuttering. America nodded and reached out toward Russia who offered a few from a crate. "Here you go," America said as he handed them to the boy.

"Thanks," Australia said with a smile. He turned but as he walked back the way he had come he continued to look behind him where America stood, waving him off.

"He likes you," Russia observed as he approached America and wrapped his arms around him from behind his chest.

"I'm glad," America said with a fond smile. "That's the last thing I want is for my little brother to hate me."

"That is right. He's England's son," Russia nodded with a smile. "Do you think he knows?"

"Probably not," America said with a downcast gaze. Russia had frowned before turning the American around in his arms and tilting his chin up with his fingers. "I forbid you from frowning in my presence, Alfred. I can't stand the sight of them."

America offered a quick smile for him before those fingers on his chin pulled and lips pressed to his mouth once more.

The trek back to the city had been interesting enough. All of the nations offered to carry a wounded soldier and this gave America a clear view of England in the lead, carrying his own wounded with his son walking beside him. He watched him glance behind him and America made no attempt to hide the fact that he was gazing at Australia. When England followed his gaze to the boy marching next to him America watched England push Australia forward and tell him to march ahead with the scouts.

America frowned again.

Once back in the city the wounded and sick were taken to the doctors while the rest of the men just dropped their belongings and were given food and tea. America was pleased that his men were finally relieved. He offered them all words of encouragement and praised them for their acts of valor. When he found they had been taken care of he made to attend himself and his own weariness.

After laying his guns and packs down he groaned and rolled his stiff shoulder. He took off his hat and then proceeded with unbuttoning his jacket but found it quite difficult. It seemed his shoulder was much too stiff for that and so he decided to just leave his jacket on.

"Alfred." America turned and smiled as he watched Russia approach him with two cups of steaming hot tea. "Here," Russia offered. America nodded in thanks as he reached out and took up the offered cup.

"Just what I need," America admitted with a chuckle as he took the cup but all too soon his weakened fingers let the porcelain object slip from his grasp and down it fell, crashing and shattering on the ground. "Uh, sorry. Butter fingers, you know?" Once again America had offered a smile and a joke but the Russian seemed unamused as he set his cup down on a nearby merchant stand and then looked at him darkly before thrusting his palm out and hitting America square in the chest.

America stumbled back before Russia hit him again and again before he had pushed him out of the sight of human and nation eyes alike and slammed him against the wall of the city.

"Ah! What the hell, Ivan? !" America gasped out when Russia twisted him around and pressed him against the wall.

"You've been lying, dear Alfred," Russia said lowly as he pulled on the American's jacket hard enough to rip it off of his shoulder. Afterwards he proceeded in ripping America's shirt until bare skin was seen and the red that was covering it.

Russia finally saw what he had suspected and so as he inspected the wound he noticed something unusual. Taking off his glove with his teeth Russia touched the wound with his bare hand and pressed his finger in.

"Ah! The bullet's still in, alright!" America cried out, hissing from the pain. His face became red from the embarrassment that his secret lover had found out. He didn't want anyone to know simply for the morale of his men. If they had known their country had been hit then they might have become afraid and upset over coming to China. He didn't want that, not when he got to finally see Russia after all this time, or even Australia for that matter.

"Tupoy," Russia whispered with disdain and scolded the boy who had been too careless.

The moment America felt the Russian ease his hold he was off of him in an instant. With wide eyes America turned to see that Russia had in fact been pulled off of him forcefully and not on his own accord.

"You bastard!" England had landed a good blow again Russia's jaw that left the taller nation fazed. America certainly hadn't foreseen that and he certainly hadn't expected England of all nations to jump in front of him as if he was guarding him from an enemy.

Stance-firm and fists shaking with battle-readiness, England stood between America and Russia and all America could do was gape as he reigned in his mental bearings and as Russia shook the haze from his eyes.

"I adore the way you treat your allies, Briton," Russia commented as he moved his jaw and felt for any major damage with his hand.

"Ally my arse!" England spat. "What the bloody hell were _you_ trying to do to America? Don't think I didn't see it!"

Russia then pointed toward America who had been standing with his back against the city wall looking ever dumbfounded by all that had suddenly transpired before his very eyes. "He had been hiding a wound and I was just confronting him about it."

"What wound?" England turned and his green gaze widened at the look of it. America's face flushed out of embarrassment and he was quick to try to piece his tattered shirt back together to cover the shameful wound. When he looked back toward England he saw that the man looked hurt which is what surprised America the most. "You've been . . . hurt?"

"Da," Russia said as he straightened his form and prided himself with knowing firstly about the American's condition. "If you would have paid more attention to those you led to their deaths then you might have known your ally had been hurt in the cross fire of the retreat."

"You were hurt in the departure?" England asked.

America nodded and then glared at Russia. "You didn't have to tell him."

"No, no," England said, shaking his head and then coming closer toward America and examining the wound. "By God, why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't want the men to know," America admitted. "Besides, it doesn't hurt that bad. I can still move my arm to a certain extent."

"You stupid boy," England muttered and America this time had caught the high pitch in his words. He saw those trembling lips and a sheen of glistening moisture coated England's eyes for but a moment before he shook his head and took hold of America's arm rather harshly and pulled him along with him.

"Ah! Watch it!" America cried out, his face turning red once more as he was dragged out from the shadows of the city wall and to everyone around, nation and human alike. His shirt was hanging off of him in tatters, his former parent-nation dragging him toward the infirmary like some naughty child due for a spanking, and his wound bare before his men and the other curious onlookers. Hell, even Australia caught a glance at him.

It had been so embarrassing that he had flat out refused Russia's visit after night overcame the city. The older nation just didn't know when to stop teasing him and finally enough was enough. All of the other nations who wished to visit like France, Italy, Prussia, they could but he straight forward denied Russia. As he laid in bed inside the infirmary that night he smiled to himself knowing Russia was probably drinking his upset away. Oh how he relished the mental image of a pouting Russia.

The creaking of the door let America know someone had entered and so he closed his eyes. If it was that nagging nurse again come in to check to see if he was asleep then he'd play he was. He was nation. He didn't need sleep every day like a human did, but then again when he did need sleep he could hibernate for months on end. Still, she just wouldn't understand no matter how many times America insisted.

He heard the sound of a bowl getting placed down on the counter in the corner of the room and then someone had pulled a chair up to his bed and sat themselves down. When the sound of unraveling fabric caught in America's ears he opened one eye. Just as he had though he found hands upon his shoulder and that resulted in him jumping up.

"What are you do—ing . . . England?" America stared blankly at the nation in front of him who held in his hands new bandages. He had come in to change his bandages.

"Stay still, lad. I don't mean you harm. I just wanted to change your bandages myself. Is that a crime?" England asked with a sad smile before his gently pushing hands coaxed America back down onto the mattress. "Come on, on your side." America nodded and silently did as told.

Watching as England soundlessly did as he said he'd come to do, America couldn't help but watch him closely. Sure relations between the both of them hadn't been at the peak of souring like they usually got to every other decade or so but England really hadn't been at all present during embassy visits and such. It was just strange to be this close to him after what felt like centuries. Come to think of it, America probably hadn't particularly stood (or lain, in his present case) this close to him since 1812.

But even so America let him touch him. He let him come closer with metal scissors and cut off the stained whites to clean and then wrap him up once more. When England clipped the gauze securely his hand stayed a little longer than comfortable. America didn't feel the pressure on his wound was that hard but when England began to tremble America looked up at him in unexpected startle.

"I'm so sorry, America. I truly am," England said as he covered his face with his hand and let the sound of muffled sobs echo throughout the dark room. "It was my entire fault that you're hurt. Mine alone."

America felt concern swell his throat up, or had that been his rising heart? It didn't matter. What did was England, the nation who had borne him into the world was crying in front of him. It was something America had never seen. Ever. Well . . . not since _then_.

Jumping up into a sitting position America reached out lightly touching England's shoulder. "Hey, you didn't know it would happen. No one did. Besides it was just a stray bullet. You can't control where those things fly."

"That's not the point," England insisted as he inhaled a breath meant to steady his state but when he looked at the young nation America only realized that England had indeed been crying. "I almost killed you both. Because of my damn recklessness I almost killed you both!"

The both of them? America's heart silently sank when he realized England had been referring to Australia and him. England still had a heart for him as his child and so counted him next to Australia in a matter of harm. If America remembered correctly, Australia had taken shrapnel to his ankle and England had been quick to patch him up personally. That had been before America realized who he had been. Now that he understood he comprehended as to why England had kept the boy close, why he had him stay behind him when they charged, why he had gotten on his hands and knees to take care of a minor wound for the boy.

America wasn't England's child anymore. Officially? No. Historically? Yes. He wasn't a parent nation. He didn't know what England was going through, but he couldn't imagine it felt too good by the looks of England's deteriorated state.

"We're still here," America stated. "To live to fight another day. You're not getting rid of us any time soon, old man."

England looked at him. His mouth agape and his eyes shining. No one could resist America's smile. He'd make sure.

"I'll follow you again, but this time, mind your supplies," America said with a playful wink though inside he felt right on edge. He didn't like seeing England like this. He didn't know when he had felt this way when he specifically remembered before he could have cared less to see the snobbish empire on his knees and in tears.

It had been a hundred and twenty-five years since England had embraced him. America had been caught off guard and half expected his body to subconsciously push away, especially after the last time England had hugged him. But he didn't. He stayed still as England pressed him close, wrapping his long arms around him and pressing America's head against his neck where his fingers combed lovingly through wheat-hued locks of hair.

"I do still love you, Alfred," England whispered.

He wasn't lying. America could feel the beating of his heart. It was calm and on pace. As had been his words.

America blinked because his eyes stung. America pulled away because he couldn't breathe. America pushed England away because his heart hurt from the crowded space.

"America?" England looked confused by the sudden action. There was hurt in his eyes from the possibility of a rejection but America couldn't find it in himself to look at him, not when he was about to break apart himself.

"Thank-you for changing my bandages," America offered the polite acknowledgment of deed. He didn't say anymore. He didn't need to. England understood when he was wanted to leave.

England nodded and stood up. After collecting the trash and bowl he took one last glance toward America who had turned from him and covered his face so not to reveal what undusted emotions rising up inside him were doing to his nose and eyes.

Like the gentleman he was, England left when wished. Upon quietly shutting the door behind him England looked up to see Australia standing there. His green eyes were wide and his jaw hanging. Just how long had he been there?

"Son? What are you doing here at this hour?"

"Is he really . . ." Australia had stopped himself in his form of a stutter but picked up from where he left off just as quickly. "France had told me that . . . is the United States of America really your son?"

England frowned sadly before continuing his way to dispose of the dirtied water and used gauze. "I thought I told you to stay clear of the other nations."

Australia turned and followed his parent, close on his heels even for having a limp. "That doesn't matter. Is it really true?"

"No," England answered as he turned toward his second child after placing the porcelain bowl down in a sink. "Now can we please quit this subject and you return to your cot where you should be resting?"

England began walking again this time Australia noted in the direction of the exit. He was no doubt leading him back toward their rooms in the barracks.

"But Canada told me he was France's son," Australia continued even against his father's insistence that they stop. "I know me and New Zealand are yours but France told me you had a child in the New World. Why would he lie about that?"

England stopped and turned toward Australia. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. "What if he was? Say America was my son and in kind your big brother. What would you say? What would you do?"

Australia didn't say a word. He looked conflicted and confused as to how to answer the questions.

England let out a sigh and turned once more toward the barracks. "It's in the past now, son. I have you and your brother to look after. Even Mathew needs my attention. America's shown me a long time ago that he can take care of himself. All chicks leave the nest eventually; some just sprout wings quicker than the others."

England had, in a way, answered Australia and it had perturbed the boy why it had been so hard to simply say "yes" given that in the end of their conversation Australia had concluded that the amazingly strong and optimistic United States of America was indeed his older brother; England's oldest. Later he realized why his parent-nation had been so reluctant to tell him and his brother about their once-thought-nonexistent older sibling. He had heard his conversation with the younger nation and he had heard him tell him that he loved him. England didn't love anyone besides his own children and apparently, even if they had so violently pulled away from him.

Now Australia wasn't sure if he could ever look or speak to America the same again. In fact, one would think the mere thought of such a sibling doing that to a parent would deter Australia to stay away from America which is what it seemed to be hinted at whenever England would bid him do a task when he found the two speaking, but Australia was drawn to the growing country and soon enough he became his role model.

Manchuria, China. September 1900

Russia really had wished America had stayed home. Sending some troops would have sufficed, but accompanying them? No, that just wasn't desirable at all.

Russia would have to be near the boy if just to see him. He'd have to make sure he was well. He'd have to make sure he was fed properly by the others, treated with respect, and given a fair share in interests. He wanted him back in Alaska, waiting for him anxiously. Not here. Because if he was there then Russia would have to behave.

And he most certainly didn't want to be doing something so boring as behaving.

"AH!" China cried out as Russia stomped his boot onto his broken arm again. Russia grinned at the sound of crunching shards of bone. The nation's arm was definitely broken but he couldn't help but stomp again. He cried so well.

"Did you have fun, Kitay?" Russia asked as he leaned down and then grabbed a hold of the small nation by the neck and lifted him up off the ground. He was gagging but his eyes still shown a light of defiance. "Oh, you want more punishment?"

"European qín shòu!" China shouted and spat at the Russian.

Bad luck for the ancient nation; America wasn't there to keep the Russian good. So Russia slammed the Asian back onto the ground where burning embers were fluttering loosely and punched him in the jaw. He slammed his fist down onto him once more and Russia smiled in pride as he watched the man's left eye begin to swell. He might as well have his other match and so Russia once again beat him.

"Enough!"

Russia turned and watched little Japan come running up, rifle clutched in his hands tightly with his sword slapping against his thigh. He looked upset and Russia couldn't for the life of him depict why. Oh wait, yes he could. Looking back down at China who was crying out from the pain afflicted by the Russian Empire, Russia chuckled. Despite Japan coming into their alliance to stop China's uprising he still had emotional ties to his older brother.

"I do not need your help, Asian nation," Russia said as he stood up but kept a close eye on China underneath him. If he so much as tried to move away he'd just have to break the next limbs, his legs.

"We're here to stop a rebellion, not eradicate a people," Japan stated as he knelt down and took in his older brother's condition.

"I am here to make sure a rebellion never happens again," Russia informed with a frown at the Japanese man below him. He didn't like him one bit. He was too arrogant and proud and too . . . just too Asian.

Despite his dislike for Japan, Russia had to settle their tense dispute later. Right now, as he looked around and considered his conquest of Manchuria secured he decided to leave the rest of the burning and slaughter to his men as they saw fit. Right now he had to head to Taku to see an already in trouble nation. He knew the American nation. He wouldn't leave without a proper goodbye and in that his leader was upset with his delayed return to his mainland. So Russia left and made sure his men kept him informed on Japan and his troops just in case he threatened territory like he had in the past.

Upon entering the city and then the docking area toward a familiar looking steamboat, Russia smiled at the sight of the boy. He was sitting on the bow of his ship, kicking his legs back and forth looking quite bored. He witnessed his captain approach him and ask him how long they should wait. America offered him another day but knowing him when the captain returned the next day he'd ask for another and another and another. Stubborn boy, but that was how Russia liked him.

"I should hope there's nothing important happening back home. If so I wouldn't think your return too pleasant," Russia called out and smiled as America's head jerked toward him and the brightest most beautiful smile erupted across his features.

Without word in rhetoric, America grabbed hold of the railing and jumped off of the boat in a single leap before rushing toward Russia and throwing his arms around him. England and the others were nowhere near so America hadn't thought it unnecessary to display affections if it was just a hug or touch.

"I told you I was busy, zvyozdochka," Russia cooed as he dove into those soft sapphire pools looking up at him with so much affection that he was drowning in ecstasy. "You should have returned home already."

America shook his head like an upset child. "I told the others that I wanted to see you one more time and that was final."

Russia chuckled and ran his fingers through the boy's hair before tugging him along. "Come then, let us send you off with a drink."

The two headed to a local bar and downed in humorous manner the local alcohol. They talked about a few things, reminisced about recent battles and conflicts waged in the rebellion but when America inquired of where Russia had been earlier the older nation just responded by saying that he was securing his interests. After getting no more out of the conversation Russia then proceeded in walking America back to his ship.

It had been a beautiful early October night and Russia had decided to walk in silence and just inhale the other's presence. They had both enjoyed it but as they walked toward the docking area Russia had taken hold of America's wrist and dragged him toward a lumber shed close to America's docked ship. No one had been there and Russia had been wanting to know something and required it before the American left.

"I had been meaning to personally thank you for the extravagant welcoming tour you gave my Grand Duke Alexei. He had enjoyed that very much and I had greatly enjoyed your letter," Russia informed with a smile.

"Sure thing," America said with a smile. "It was my pleasure to show him around. Really did want you to come with him."

"I know, as did I," Russia replied as he raised his hand and let his knuckles brush against America's cheek and it did his heart good to see him lean into the touch so unafraid. "But more than anything I was curious about that song you sang to my prince."

"What song?"

Russia frowned and leaned back to straighten and peer down at America like a child in the wrong. When he crossed his arms he watched the American glance to their right and then to their left before his eyes looked up at him and then down again.

"There were lots of songs and music," America explained but the nervously drumming fingers informed Russia that he knew which one he was speaking of.

"Da, he said there was. But he also said there was one song _you_ sang for him. In fact you wrote the lyrics of it in this letter." Russia pulled out the parchment and handed it to America for proof. Even though the American stuck the paper in front of his face Russia could still see the top of his forehead changing color as well as his two ears, all red. When he was handed back the letter the American was just about waving it in front of him.

"Okay, I know the song, now here, take it!" America said as he turned his red face away from Russia and stood still, wishing for the burn to fade. "Yeah, so what if I sang it for him. Stop teasing!"

"I am not teasing," Russia defended as he pressed his hands upon the boy's shoulders and turned him toward him so that he may see his adorable face. "But I am jealous. I should have wished to have heard it myself." If America didn't understand that as an invitation to sing it to him then and there whilst no one was around then Russia would have to downright ask for the song sung.

The blush was fading as America smiled and looked up at him with a short nod before glancing around the shed. He poked his head inside before rummaging through a crate and returning back outside. In his hand was a can and with a smile America slapped the metallic object in rhythm of a beat and opened his lips and tuned his words.

"In a house, in a square, in a quadrant  
In a street, in a lane, in a road  
Turn to the left, on the right hand  
You see there my true love's abode  
I go there a courting and cooing  
To my love, like a dove  
And swearing on my bended knee  
If ever I cease to love  
May sheep heads grow on apple trees.

If ever I cease to love  
If ever I cease to love  
May the moon be turned into green cheese  
If ever I cease to love."

There was more to the song and Russia knew it, but with that beautiful angelic voice and that face Russia couldn't help himself from cutting the long-wanted-heard song short as he grabbed a hold of America's square jaw and pulled him close. The can in his hands forgotten now as he pressed close to his secret lover and returned the kiss with just as much passion as the older nation.

Russia was very glad that he didn't need to lean over too far for America. After Alaska the young nation had grown like he expected and the height was much more accommodating but even America had banged the back of his head against the shed's entrance as Russia pressed him inside for more privacy.

There the two stumbled until America had lost his footing and dragged Russia down on top of him where his knees pressed against the Russian's hips and Russia himself drove his knee between America's thighs. America pulled away with a gasp and a heated flush appeared on his face. Russia grinned and kissed him once more as he rubbed his leg against him, enticing an arousal.

"Please, not here," America moaned, turning his face away as he closed his eyes tightly and swallowed hard as Russia kissed his neck tenderly.

Russia understood even though the American wasn't willing to say it aloud. He wasn't ready. Well, possibly not here. With a nod Russia reached out and took hold of America's chin, pulling his face back to look at him.

"Alaska," Russia stated and nodded in silent agreement. America nodded as well as Russia leaned down and kissed him tenderly.

After that America had lain in Russia's embrace for a few moments before they both felt it time to depart. Russia waited upon the docks until America's ship vanished from sight with America standing on the aft waving goodbye and lastly blowing him a kiss.

Russia let out a frustrated sigh as he turned and headed back into the city. How long would he have to wait to have the boy? Conflict after conflict arose at every opportune moment and it annoyed the hell out of the Russian who sought only to claim a lover.

Because of the tension he had taken to beating servants, particularly national servants. When wars arose he decimated the enemy. He'd received a cruel recognition for it but he didn't care. He could ease himself with sex but he wanted to save himself for the time when he would become one with America. Since the boy was virgin he thought it only fair to refrain from sexual activities until then.

But by God was he hurting from lack of union. So he felt the need to return to the Chinese and at least watch the executions if not carry some out himself. Perhaps after he's had America's body it would ease the tension in his body. Maybe then the others wouldn't call him a monster. Perhaps. Perhaps.

While focusing on his much needed tension release Russia hadn't even sensed a nearby nation. In fact he had even walked right by him when he and America had left the lumber shed. And once again he had passed him.

Germany had been on his way to ask when America was going to depart when he found the boy with the Russian Empire, a nation he hadn't been too fond of lately. He had stayed near waiting for a time when Russia would leave but he hadn't and instead Germany had witnessed their raw affection toward the other through their passionate kisses and needy touches.

Germany had been surprised and frozen in spot. It was more of a mystery that Russia hadn't seen him; he hadn't been too hidden in his frozen state of shock. Even when America was gone and Russia had passed by Germany couldn't shake the shock of realizing that the one who had taken America away from him was none other than Russia, a nation far older than him and even more so than America.

_Why Russia?_ That had been Germany's main questionable thought as he sat at a local bar inhaling drinks not to his liking if only to get himself drunk. Was it his stature, his age, his territory? What? That nation had one of the darkest histories and yet a young beautiful nearly untainted nation like America had fallen in love with him. Why? What did Russia have that Germany didn't?

"Ludwig? Ludwig!"

That was the sound of his brother, but Germany paid no mind. He simply took in another drink but in mid drink the bottle was taken from him and the liquid spilled all over his jacket. He would have complained but his tongue was tied and the room was beginning to spin.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing? !" Prussia asked as he shook his baby brother before offering a few smacks to his face to get those wandering blue eyes to look at him. "What's wrong with you?"

"Everything!" Germany cried out as he pulled himself from his brother thusly losing his balance and crashing to the floor in a pitiful state. "Everything, damn it!"

Prussia just grabbed a hold of his arm and didn't even help him to balance and stand; instead he simply dragged him out of the bar and took him toward a wash room. There he shoved his face into a bucket of water and held him there until Germany choked for air. When he pulled him up he coughed and wheezed but would still not look at Prussia and so Prussia pushed him back into the water. He held him there longer this time and when Germany was pulled back he was on the cusp of unconsciousness.

"Look at me!" Prussia demanded.

Germany's eyes fluttered open and even through drunken haze he met his brother's scarlet gaze. Prussia looked upset and insulted by his brother's state. That must have been the reason why he slapped him.

"Get a hold of yourself!" Prussia ordered. He let go of his growing brother who had stood his ground and leaned against the mirrors. "You're nothing but an embarrassment like this. Now tell me what's forced you to degrade yourself like this, now!"

"A-A," Germany inhaled and closed his eyes to shake the spinning from his mind. "Alfr—America. I saw . . . _who_ it was."

"What are you talking about?" Prussia had probably thought it to be a drunken ramble but suddenly he was back two decades and remembered Germany's hurt from rejection and the young ex-colony so many of their people immigrated to saying he had another dear to his heart. "Who?" Prussia wanted to know just as much.

Germany gasped, still trying to catch his breath as the water trickled down his face and off his golden locks. He clenched his fists and then struck the closest mirror next to him. "Russia!" Germany shouted out the name like a curse and then bowed his head in defeat.

Prussia's eyes widened. "What?" he asked as he came closer to his brother. "You said it was him? Are you certain?"

"Of course I am!" Germany spat as he pushed his brother away. He needed space for his angered discovery. "I saw them . . . they both . . . damn it!"

"Calm down," Prussia said, trying to ease his brother's temper even though he was becoming upset himself over the America's poor selection in lovers.

"I had failed him," Germany cried out, looking in distress at the recent memory. "Alfred and I . . . I failed to support him in the attack and I left him alone and defenseless on the wall. Russia and England, they saved him but I . . . I was hurt because I was weak!"

This time it was the tiles next to the shattered mirrors and Prussia was wondering the next thing would be the entirety of the wall to fall to his brother's strength.

"Stop blaming yourself," Prussia said.

"What else am I supposed to do?" Germany asked as he looked at his brother in desperation. "Nothing else but failed comparison suffices and even then I am worthless to him. Haven't I become strong? If so then why am I not strong enough for him?"

Germany was still in love. Prussia had managed to patch ties between them and America and avoid all awkward confrontations but he couldn't heal his brother's heart. He wanted his brother happy but he wanted America, who had become a brother to him as well, to be happy. Granted he didn't like America's choice in companionship and knew it wasn't for the wiser but if he was happy then he wouldn't oppose it.

Still, Germany's happiness came before America's and frankly it didn't take long for the boy to get over something trivial like a tie break.

So, decided, Prussia approached his brother, took hold of his head and held it high and began pushing his hair out of his face. He held his head steady as he did this and then held his frame as he attempted to stumble to the floor below.

"There are things a nation could do when confronted with unions. Either reject it, or ignore it. But if it is perceived as a challenge for affection then one can fight," Prussia informed after pushing all of Germany's hair back. He looked him in the eyes and continued. "It can be done either two ways, subtle or violent. I wouldn't agree with either one, too many have died as a result of either or, but remember that the great questions of the time will not be resolved by speeches and majority decisions—that was the great mistake of 1848 and 1849—but by _iron and blood_."

Germany looked dazed as he took in and comprehended everything that Prussia had said and everything that he had suggested. When the haze cleared from Germany's gaze he narrowed his eyes and turned his eyes upon his brother.

"How long until I should act?"

"Don't give him any more than two decades."

And Germany didn't. He gave Russia seventeen years.

* * *

**Daughter Of The Revolution:**** Yay! Long chapter for my sorry late update! Hope you enjoyed and I can safely say I am about half-way done with this story . . . at least I think. Bah! These chapters just come to mind as I write. In honesty this chapter was not supposed to exist in my original mental outline but, wham, there it is after a little research and plot bunny attacks. Hope you enjoyed!**

**P.S. Also, America is about 18 years old here and will be turning 19 in the 20th century as agreement with his age in the 1940's.**

**History Time!**

**Russia's Grand Duke Alexei did indeed have a wonderful visit to America as the Americans showed him all over their territories. General George Armstrong Custer and Buffalo Bill personally escorted him on the Buffalo hunt mentioned above. He loved the visit and Russia thanked America for taking care of their Prince later.**

**"If Ever I Cease to Love" was a song written the year Grand Duke Alexei visited and sung to him numerous times in various states. He rightly said it had been his favorite song and so I opted to put it as Russia's favorite as well. It is a very cute song (you can look it up on Youtube) and to me depicts America's child-like innocent love for his lover and thusly is how the lyrics were written. Very cute.**

**Rightly so Russia was in relative peace in the 1870's and could have made a visit to waiting America but for the sake of tormenting you guys I had his Tsar keep him at home to settle Balkan issues which arrived later that decade.**

**Germany became an official country in January 1871 with the uniting of the German states with Prussia at the lead.**

**In 1882 was when America received their highest number of German immigrants in a single year. The numbers rose over 250,630. This is now the highest number of American ancestry as well.**

**Boxer Rebellion [1899-1901] This also gives us the Eight-Nation Alliance consisting of: United Kingdom, Russia, Japan, France, the United States, Germany, Italy, and Austria-Hungary. This is actually the first time the U.S. took part in a fight alongside other countries/European Powers since the American Revolutionary War.**

**The failed expedition mentioned under England is the Seymour Expedition consisting mostly of British, American, and Russian troops who were pounded and ambushed and then forced to retreat while getting attacked in the fall-back. Apparently many ran out of ammunition except the Americans who had come prepared with extra ammunition. But due to luck they found an ammunitions fort (which is where Russia found a little alone-time with America before heading back to the city) and stocked up on supplies and again, were attacked but easily repelled the Boxers until allied troops came to save them and escort them back to the city.**

**Yays, Australia was introduced. Why? Because there were Australians fighting alongside the Brits in the Boxer Rebellion. And America and Australia do end up growing quite attached to each other despite the United Kingdom not liking the bad American's influence on the spunky young nation. So, yep, America kinda becomes their role model as history progresses and the two nations still love each other to this day. Ah, friendship/sibling closeness. ;)**

**America and England might be bonding? Whaaaat? Well, my lovely readers, as history goes, you can't hold a grudge forever, at least not America (especially if you treat them good). Their relationship healing is known as the "Great Rapprochement" a time span ranging from 1895-1915 where our bad relations were healed and America and England began to forgive and create one of the most powerful alliances the world's ever known.**

**In the Boxer Rebellion the Russians were specifically known for brutal fighting. Rape, mutilation, etc. Not pretty and a few Americans had seen it and were disturbed but for a sense of air over America's love-struck mind, he hadn't seen it and his men refuse to tell him about Russia's men for fear of America's fragile mental state.**

**Ahh, the underlying tensions between Russia and Japan. I'm sensing a war coming on (cough, cough, Russo-Japanese War, cough).**

**When Germany mentioned failing on the Wall he was referring to the Tartar Wall where the Germans and the Americans were set to defend. The Chinese forced the Germans from the wall after an assault in early July and granted this was the most crucial of all defensive positions. So with only the American Marines left alone to defend the wall their commanding officer, Capt. John T. Myers informed his men that it was either do or die, retreat or force the Chinese from the wall the Germans had failed to protect. So early July 2nd, Myers led an assault consisting of 56 British, Russian, and American soldiers. All in all they forced the Chinese from the wall and they never attacked again.**

**Prussia quoted a piece of the speech from Otto von Bismarck, a Prussian chancellor whose speech was titled, "Iron and Blood" where he pretty much states that the German Empire won't sit idle, and that they'd fight for nationhood if threatened.**


	10. War on The Heart

Versailles, France. June 28th 1919

It didn't hurt. It really didn't. Germany learned best how to steel himself from France's strikes a long time ago. But the humiliation was there, especially with the other countries looking.

There was no doubt a red sting visible on his pale cheek but Germany could only stand there and take it as France once again reeled his arm back and attempted to strike him again. He was upset, of course he was, he lost the most in the war so no one attempted to excuse his fuming behavior, nor his violence toward the German nation. But what France failed to see, as well as everyone else, was that Germany had lost much too and now he had to deal with this.

With shoulders tense and in preparation for another strike seeing how France had pulled his hand away again and aimed it toward the younger nation, Germany steeled himself and clenched his fists tight, standing there and taking it. But the calculation of timing was off. There was no sting, no jerk of the head. No contact.

Turning his eyes Germany gapped at the sight of America holding France's arm in mid-air, the palm of the nation's hand looked ready for another impact with the German's skin. The young nation had stopped France coming in for another blow.

"That's enough, France," America stated and applied just enough pressure to cause some sort of discomfort for the Frenchman.

France sneered before pulling his arm away from America's grasp. He glared at him with disdain before looking back toward Germany who stood alone before the other nations, his big brother nowhere in sight—nowhere to help him.

"America is far away, protected by the ocean. Not even Napoleon himself could touch England. You are both sheltered; we are not," France responded before turning back toward America and offering a small glance toward England who stood nearby watching for any tensions about to raise their heads. With that France turned on his heel and ordered his men to bring Germany into the board room.

Germany refused to be touched by the Frenchmen and instead shook their hands off of his arms and walked into the room himself. England had prepared himself to enter as well but noticed a lack of companionship into the room where the treaty was set to be signed. Turning he looked to see America standing in the waiting room, looking toward the exiting door like it was the one thing he wanted most.

"America? Are you coming?" England asked.

"I can't find myself to agree with either one of you," America admitted and slumped his shoulders before he reached out and took hold of the knob on the exit.

"Wait, you can't just simply leave," England insisted. "We're about to sign."

"And this is one signature you're not going to get," America said as he turned toward England. The look in his eyes was stern and England found himself surprised to be gazing into a nation claimed so young but now looked so mature like that of a thousand-year-old country. "Sorry," With that America opened the door and left.

He stopped. Outside, in the hall sat a lone albino. He offered no threat despite the French guards standing near and America felt his heart go out to him. Walking up toward him and offering the French humans a glare to remove themselves from his national presence as soon as possible, the men did and now Prussia looked up to him.

"Is Ludwig alright?" Prussia asked, his hands rolling his overcoat held in his hands to wrinkles. He was concerned for his little brother, as he should be. America wanted to offer comforting words but after all that had happened between him and the German brothers a hate began building up inside him like a sickening bile. He didn't want to feel it, but it was what his people felt and he couldn't just simply ignore it no matter how hard he tried.

"No," America answered truthfully. "I tried talking to France but he won't relent. He and England blame him the most."

"That's not fair!" Prussia spat as he stood up and gazed into the American's serious blue eyes. They were the same height. Prussia stood even with him now, if not just a little lower due to America's status as victor. "They've all fought in countless wars before. They know the causes. France is just getting recompense from the Franco-Prussian war isn't he? Why won't he take it out on me? Not Ludwig."

"They already did," America informed with a heavy sigh. "You've already been removed from any power you once held over your brother."

"Is that enough?" Prussia asked. "Now they torture me with tormenting my baby bruder. It's not fair and you know it!"

"Then it was fair to attack me despite my claims for neutrality?" America asked. That had stopped the Prussian's rant.

Prussia stood there with his jaw hanging. His eyes scanned his thoughts for anything to say in response to America's statement but how could one negate the truth? So Prussia closed his eyes and sat himself down in defeat.

"Ja, I am sorry about that, Alfred," Prussia said lowly as he gazed at his black scuffed shoes. How could he tell America why it had happened? How could he tell him that it had been the German General Staff who had secretly convinced their Chancellor to lean toward unrestricted submarine warfare just so they could starve England? After England's blockade the Germans could no longer continue with trade with America. What else could they have done? Even so Germany hadn't wanted it knowing that America would likely enter the war but Prussia pressed for it in an attempt to defeat England. Of course nothing ever went as planned and an angry America came faster than expected.

Would America really believe all of that despite it being true? He could see it; Prussia could see how upset America was. He felt it in his fury when he entered the war and marched with his men on the frontlines. They had all wanted the war over with as soon as possible and Germany above all hadn't wanted America to enter, but now look at them.

America was right and Prussia was all to blame.

"War is war," Prussia stated with a shrug. It was all he could offer for an explanation close enough to reason.

"The hell it is!" America growled as he reached down and took up Prussia by the collar of his shirt and pulled him close letting the older German state see just how writhing he was. "I lost over a hundred thousand men, you son of a bitch, and you're telling me that, 'war is war,' like it's something fucking normal? !"

That was right; this had been the first time America had been in a grand scale war since possibly his revolution. The horrors he had seen this time around.

"I saw what you krauts did to Belgium; I saw what you did to France! Now you're trying to do the same damn thing to Russia!"

Prussia's back hit the wall behind him roughly and as his legs bumped into the bench underneath him his form fell and he was once again sitting, staring up at a red-faired blurry-eyed U.S. The boy's fists were shaking beside his hips and his shoulders were up and tense. He'd never seen him this upset since . . .

"Now I would let France and the others have their ways with you if it didn't go against my morals," America said as he began taking deeper breaths of air in to calm his form and ease the redness in his complexion. "And I will swear to you that I will sign another treaty with you."

"You . . . would?" Prussia sat there amazed with America's restraint. He hadn't been directly harmed from the war like France and the others, but his anger because of it was still there. It was expected but Prussia had never seen such willingness to forgive despite sudden tension between nations. It was either maturity of naivety but Prussia would not disregard it nonetheless.

America nodded. He turned and said, "We'll talk about it after they're done with your brother."

Prussia could hear the hurt in America's voice but he couldn't possibly tell him. If he did then he would doubt any morale code of the American or his people would save him and his brother from the bitter resentment from the blond.

The bombing of his cargo ships; there was no choice. Purposely invading Belgium and ignoring the convention; again, no choice. But with Russia . . . Prussia wanted to say it was to get their men out of the Eastern Front but in reality he and Germany had plotted his downfall for good and the reason for such an act just so happened to be standing before him right now.

Hurt. Of course America was hurt. But he'd come to feel just how horrible it felt when a heart breaks after Russia was through. Prussia did it for his baby brother's continuous affection. Even throughout all of this Prussia was certain it wouldn't fade. If only America would show more bitterness then it would force his love-struck brother away from the ex-colony, but he didn't. Time after time America offered the restoration of trust when neither were deserving. This only enticed Germany closer and it was because of this Prussia couldn't sit idle. As an older brother he had a duty to give to his little brother whatever he wanted and if he wanted the world then he had it, on a silver platter—no, gold. If he wanted the affection of the young United States of America then it was first and foremost important to be rid of the nation's supposed lover at once and that is what they had done. They removed Russia; from the war, from the spoils, from America's heart.

From what he had heard the American shout in anger Prussia realized he might have heard rumors about the Germans' involvement in Russia's revolution. He was certain the boy thought them only as rumors and acted on such an anger just to vent his frustration. He would forget whatever he heard later.

So Prussia remained silent. It was all for Germany. He was doing this because of him and only him. Now that they had taken him away from him he felt useless as a big brother. He was meant to protect him and now the guilt of that and the guilt of seeing that hurt in America's eyes was getting to him and he could hardly hold himself back from the confession if not just to get it out of him and lift the weighing weight off his shoulders.

"Whenever you want," Prussia said. "Look, I know I no longer have any say over Ludwig, but please, when you talk to him . . . please treat him with respect." Looking up at America Prussia knew the boy had a right to reject the offer. After all, no one ever negotiated with losers; it was the winners who the losers negotiated with. But Prussia knew America was different. He was fair. He understood when others let anger cloud their judgment and just beat other nations into dust when they felt like it.

"When we talk," America offered before turning and walking away.

"Wha—? Alfred, where are you going?" Prussia asked as he stood up and watched the boy walk hastily down the hall toward the exits.

America stopped and turned toward Prussia. Those blue eyes of his looked more hurt than ever before. Forget the sunk cargo ships, forget the military losses, it was Russia that was in America's concerning thoughts. Prussia could see it and he knew, he knew that the boy was going to him. Despite the situation there America was going. It was not a good idea and Prussia knew it, but who was he to say no?

Prussia would just let him figure it out by himself that Russia was different and that he didn't view the young America in the same light again. So, after America let the old nation go then Prussia would escort him back to Germany for a promising and more stronger courtship when he was ready.

Russia July 1919

"Open up, you bastards!"

America once again propelled himself against the large wooden door but with little effect like the previous times he's thrust himself against it. It had to end, all of this. This revolution. This disruption of allies. These Bolsheviks. These communist-minded hell spawn.

If this continued then America knew, he just _knew_ it would change Russia. For the worst more than likely. The thought of it made him sick to his stomach and his heart wouldn't fall back into his chest and simply remained in his throat, choking him out of the words he had to say to his men to keep them fighting, to say to himself to ease his being to think Russia would be fine.

Russia was much older than him and no doubt had been through worse than something as trivial like a revolution. If that were the case then why was America so afraid? Why did he push himself with so much force against Russia's St. Petersburg home?

Well, he did so because he was afraid. Afraid of losing him. Of losing Russia.

He was afraid of Russia no longer speaking to him. No longer smiling at him. No longer looking at him. No longer listening to him when he cried to him to turn toward him again.

But time was still of the essence and Russia did hear and ever he begged to his new leader to let him go.

"Please!" Russia cried out as he pulled himself against the chains this new self-proclaimed leader of his had placed him in. "Don't lock me away when he is crying for me!"

Russia could hear him. He could hear him even through the layers of the cellar he was locked under. He could hear him screaming for him. The desperation in his voice made his gut churn until Russia about vomited on himself.

"This is why you are locked away," The human said with a smile as he and his men looked at the contained nation readied to undergo a transformation. "Westerners are not allowed here any longer. Nor affections for said western nations."

"Po'shyol 'na hui!" Russia spat but the butt of a gun didn't feel too pleasant on his scalp. Dazed, Russia felt himself slump over and the biting chains wrapped around him worsened their hold as he hung there.

"Very rude of you to say that to your own ruler," the human said as he crossed his arms and then turned toward a man to his right, nodding toward Russia. "Stalin."

The man nodded and approached Russia. Reaching up he unhooked the chains from their holds on the ceiling, leaving Russia to collapse to the floor where the bald man approached and knelt down. Taking a hold of Russia's scarf he pulled close and smiled in the effect of choking the nation.

"You will stop resisting us. Our ideals are now your ideals. What is so hard about that? Is it that boy up there? Hm, that is it, isn't it?"

Letting go the man stood up and looked down at his pitiful nation that had once exiled him. "Imperial Russia is no more!"

"Nyet!" Russia shouted his defiance for the sake of those cries he continued to hear and the hurting twists his heart was doing inside his chest as it hurled itself against his ribcage with each heave America was doing to try to break into the tattered home.

"You are now Soviet Russia!" the man stated, his gaze intense but Russia refused to look at him and only shook his head to brush the prompting words from entering his mind.

"Nyet!" Russia cried out, closing his eyes shut tightly and bearing his teeth as he felt it—the happenings of a revolution. It was more like a civil war though because of the inner turmoil and the murder and the resistance. It hurt so much and Russia felt for certain he'd be torn apart.

"You will yield to the Bolsheviks!"

"Nyet!"

Russia was taken by the scarf once more and when he stared into the eyes of Lenin he swore they had glown a demonic red. "You do not love any western nation, much less the United States of Amerika!"

"N-Nyet, you're wrong!" Russia shouted and felt a fire digging its way out of him as this would-be leader of his insulted his long-held love for the boy who had always offered his support and affection in return. "The General had made him for me! I was the only one, the ONLY one who stayed true and he gave him to me because of it!"

The man's smile was sadistic and he looked at him as if an adult looking at a brainwashed nonsense child. "The General was simply mistaken. He's shown you the wrong nation."

Russia's eyes widened. How could this man say that? How could this human assume to know General Winter as well as Russia had? It was insulting and that smug look on his face . . .

"Never," Russia muttered. "He'd never misguide me . . . not after all I've done."

"He's always loved fucking with you," the bald man said simply. "You were ever his favorite play thing."

General Winter . . . fucking with him? Never. Why would he when Russia's always remained loyal? It was him who had opened Russia's eyes to the boy nation when he first laid eyes upon him. It was he who whisked the young nation into his arms encouraging Russia to take the opportunity to love him. It was he who suggested giving America his colony in the New World as an extravagant present shadowed by all else the American would receive. Now this human was telling him that the General had lied to him for nearly two fucking centuries? !

"You're undeserving of any companionship," the man stated with a frown and disappointed shake of his head. "Besides, you hadn't even fucked him yet. So it matters not if you break ties."

Russia's eyes stung and now he wished they'd unbind his wrists so he could rub the sting away. His heart hurt from the words they were saying. They weren't true, any one of them. General Winter had shown Russia America as his promised mate. Russia did love America and America did love Russia.

"All I ask is that you isolate yourself from the Western world. Why? Because they don't like you. I seem to get that, but you, comrade, do not." The man by the name of Lenin sat himself in a skinny chair seated near the entrance of the cellar. "You're never an ally for long. One day you're shaking their hand, the next day you're squeezing their throat, or the other way around. It is rather unhealthy; shouldn't you think so, Ivan?"

"Don't call me by my name!" Russia snapped. "You are not official! I will never accept you!"

"True," Lenin nodded as he rubbed his knees. "But you put up a good front, especially with _him_ around."

Lenin and the others glanced upward when they heard the sound of the giant door cracking in half and the shouting of the Bolshevik troops who confronted the American on the first level of the floor. Gun shots were heard, cries of pain, bodies meeting their end as they broke in two against walls and columns after being flung by the strong nation on his way toward the cellar.

"Ivan!" Russia could hear his lover calling out to him and he choked as his heart thrust itself against his chest over and over. "Ivan, where are you? !"

He sounded desperate and despite the obstacles throwing themselves in front of the American, Russia could hear how he easily took care of the men of the Red Army and continued his way to him. Russia smiled. America would never give up on him and with that confidence he glared at the men surrounding him.

"Your ruler-ship over me will remain poddelka," Russia stated with a chuckle. "I'll forget this entire revolution happened once you all pay for what you've done to my monarchy!"

"You think I don't know what happens to a nation in revolutions?" Lenin asked. Once again he looked at Russia like he was a negligent child. "It is true. You do forget. You forget those who lost. But remember, dear Ivan, we will be the ones who will win and it will be you who will forget . . . him."

Lenin turned and stood. The men with him lined the door and it wasn't long before the metal rectangle dented. The sound echoing throughout the stony walls and reverberating inside Russia's chest when he realized it was America.

"Ivan!" America shouted. "I'm coming for you. I'm coming!"

"Alfred," Russia whispered through cracked lips and a dry throat. That sting was there again. His eyes hurt and so he closed them. He was so grateful that America was so strong. They always could rely on each other.

_Ka-chink._

Russia's violet eyes snapped open. With wide horror he watched the men ready their guns. They meant to shoot America once he was through the door.

"Nyet! Alfred!" Russia cried out to deter the American from entering the room but the sound of his voice had encouraged instead of discouraged and in a flash of gun works America had bent the door in half and jumped through, raising his arms to shield himself from the bullets flying toward him.

Dunking low America had swung his leg out to trip three of them and when their heads collided with the stone floor America jumped upon them and jammed his forearm into their throats, effectively breaking their necks in a second. He turned and moved onto the others firing upon him.

Russia flinched when he watched a bullet rip itself through America's arm. He watched as it jostled around inside the nation's arm before making a sloppy exit out of the backside and coincidentally hitting a man behind America, striking him dead. The left arm now hung uselessly but America dealt with it quite well. With just the use of one arm America was able to break a few more necks and nozzles of guns.

The excitement shook Russia's bones so much that his limbs became taut and pulled and pulled until something crunched and something cracked. His chains. He'd broken free and—!

Russia let out a gasp and collapsed to the floor. America had just thrown a light-haired man against the wall, breaking his body in half, when he turned to see Russia had fallen over. "Ivan!" America made his way toward the nation but stopped as a man stepped in front of him, blocking him from Russia. He seemed older than the rest of the men there and he was balding as well, but his eyes, they held such conniving ideals that America seemed daunted.

Taken aback as he might have been by this man, America knew he was just a human. But human or not when America looked to see what he was holding in his hand his heart nearly stopped. With wide eyes America watched as the organ in the human's hand expanded and then deflated over and over. A beating heart.

It was Russia's beating heart.

There was a flash of light and America's eyes caught sight of a small knife. When he realized what was going to happen it was too late. "NO!" America cried out as he lunged forward to grab the organ.

The fragile thing was stabbed and its white covering soon bled red, the blood now coating it in a color more fitting of the substance it carried. America froze and watched in horror as the heart changed in color and signified the success and the failure of everything.

"No. No, no, no!" America cried out. "What have you done? !" He turned to see Russia shaking on the floor, convulsing and crying out in agony. America decided to forget any attempt to save the damned heart and instead scurried to Russia's side and placed his hand upon his pale cheek. "Ivan? Ivan stay with me. You'll make it through this. Keep fighting, damn it!"

"It's too late, young ambitious Amerika," Lenin said as he turned and tossed the bleeding heart carelessly to the floor, its impact making a sickening squelsh sound. "You might want to think about returning from where you've come from."

"It's never too late, you sick ba—!" America was cut off mid curse when he had turned to glare daggers at the leader of the revolution. His breath was knocked out of him and his throat nearly collapsed as he was lifted off of his knees and then his back hit the floor. "I—van!" America gasped out as the weight pressed down upon him with both hands squeezing his throat. "St-Stop!"

America only had one good arm to defend himself with and that wasn't useful at all when a nation bore down on him and threatened to squeeze the very life out of him. With just one hand America held onto Russia's wrist, pulling and pulling to no use.

"Ivan!" America gasped out one last time before nothing more could come out of his mouth and he grit his teeth and closed his eyes tight.

"Russia is ours, Capitalist," Lenin spoke as he stood next to his country who was currently choking the younger underneath him. "You are no longer welcome here. Leave now or else I shall have dear Ivan here kill the one he claimed to have once held so much affection towards."

Once? So did that mean Ivan no longer loved him? The very thought disrupted America's emotions and they tossed and turned inside him. So he simply let go. His hold on Russia's wrist left and he laid himself out defenseless with his life solely in Russia's hands.

The hold tightened and America felt his face becoming colder from the lack of blood flow. No doubt his skin color was turning a shade more akin to a blueberry. But he still refused to fight. Looking up at Russia who bore down upon him he managed a smile. It was sad and regretful but there was no hate in his eyes. Nothing but the love he also proclaimed to have for the Russian.

If Russia had his doubts then all he had to do was look into America's eyes and see for himself. He was loved. He would not fight someone he cared so much for.

"Kill the westerner," Lenin ordered, leaning over Russia and watching as America halted all movement and simply looked up at Russia.

Then in an instant the chokehold retreated. Russia's hands were still wrapped around the American's throat but no more pressure was being applied. Why? The sight of a tear sliding down America's cheek broke him out of his trance and now he was horrified.

"Alfred?" Russia questioned before pulling away. "What have I done? What have you made me do? !" When Russia's glare met Lenin the man pointed down toward the heart slowly beating and bleeding on the cold stone floor. America was lying near it, unmoving.

"You had tried to kill him because he tried to kill you," Lenin offered the lie and Russia trembled with the misconceived revelation.

"Why?" Russia asked. "You said you loved me, Alfred!"

When the American nation pushed himself up he couldn't speak. No doubt the Russian had damaged his vocals for the time being. He opened his mouth as if to protest but of course nothing he said came out. He looked distressed and attempted to come toward Russia but once again Lenin stepped in the way.

"You've hurt my nation enough with you whorish seduction," Lenin said. "Leave now. You're no longer welcomed here."

America bit his lip. He looked like he was going to cry, but save for that one small tear that had halted Russia's assault on him, America kept his eyes dry. Standing up he looked on longingly toward Russia who had curled in on himself and trembled in split. With the men threatening more violence America had no other choice and so, left.

But he tried staying as long as he could.

Russia. September 14th 1919

"Shouldn't you be returning home, America?"

The boy nation turned toward his ambassador whom he was going to escort to the docks before leaving to join up with the last of his army in Siberia. His throat had healed substantially and he was back to speaking again, but about certain subjects was a matter of willingness to share.

"I will," America offered as he watched his ambassador lock the doors to the U.S. Embassy, the one he had established over a hundred years ago. Now it was all for naught. "Just gonna join up with the boys and make sure there's a scheduled time for them to come home before heading to Willy."

"If you say so."

"What, you don't think I should?" America asked as he thrust his fists on his hips in a look of disproval at the ambassador's suggestion.

"It's not that. The men love seeing you," the ambassador said. "It's just . . ." the dark-haired man turned to look at the now empty run-down building that the very country of Russia would frequently visit for news of America. "This place, you know? It's making you sick. I can see it, and so can the others. You need to leave, America."

Just as the ambassador thought, his nation was dancing around that feeling and right when mentioned his true colors were shown. America's shoulders slumped and his eyes darkened in dismay.

"You should leave," the ambassador said once more as he hopped onto the truck meant to carry him and a good number of Americans out of the Russian country since the people had made it very clear that they were no longer welcome.

Those three words resonated throughout America's mind and he's brought back just months earlier when he had been so close to Russia but that man had stopped him. He'd stopped everyone.

America knew he should but he had a mission to see his boys in Serbia where England had moved himself to. The two hadn't talked much and the oddities were witnessed by Japan who also had been stationed there. Both were readying to leave too.

His ambassador was right. The place, the country was making him sick and so after visiting his men and arranging passage he left. He told himself he wouldn't look back but during the entire sail home America had watched the mass of land, Russia's birthplace, his home, vanish. Even gone America stared east and wondered if he could have done something more.

His men didn't need to see him down, and they most certainly didn't need to see him cry so he braved up and held his head high with his President placing visions and tales of him being the savior of the Great War into his head which he gladly soaked up like a sponge to clog out the other useless emotions threatening to spill out at inopportune times.

Making himself busy with work helped as well. One of his last run-arounds in Europe happened to be at Germany's house, sitting down and signing a few papers that compiled into an official treaty.

Berlin, Germany. August 25th 1921

"Thank you again, Alfred," Prussia said with a smile as America gathered up the signed papers. "Forgive Ludwig for not staying after he signed but he has caught a slight cold and doesn't wish to give it to you."

"I can tell," America offered after recalling Germany's raspy voice when greeting.

Without another word America made to leave.

"Eh, wait, what's the rush? I know Berlin isn't something to look at anymore but don't insult us as hosts by just up and leaving," Prussia insisted as he approached the American and placed his hands on his shoulders.

America turned to Prussia and the older found it amazing how dead America's eyes were becoming. He knew he had visited Russia and he knew what had become of the visit but he hadn't known it'd take this much life from him.

"Is everything alright, Alfred?" Prussia asked, trying to ease the tension between their countries.

"My people want you to address me as America from now on," America informed quite monotonously. Very unbefitting of his normal personality.

Prussia frowned but nodded. "Very well, I understand. But won't you stay a little? We both could use a little company—well, company that's not hostile that is." With a weak chuckle offered by Prussia the American seemed unconvinced. He looked down at the papers in his hands for a long while as if the words on the pages would suddenly dance to life off of them.

"I really need to return home," America stated. When his brows crashed together Prussia felt alerted. "I don't feel good," America admitted and who was Prussia to deny someone safe passage when they were under the weather? Not he. So with a downcast smile he waved America off and feared for his health.

As he watched him get into a truck and drive away Prussia felt Germany enter the room.

"Ja, he's gone you know," Prussia said as his brother joined him next to the window to watch the American convoy leave over hill.

Germany was quiet as his weary blue eyes watched on longingly. Prussia felt his heart clench at the sight, especially at seeing his brother so restricted. When they had first started out, when Germany had become an official country, Prussia sought to give him everything. Recognition, colonies, money, everything. But companionship? It was easier said than done.

Prussia had never been good at getting those kinds of _things_. There had been this one nation who had a serious case of identity crisis but Prussia had been stricken with them and even to that day he still felt the tings of his heart strings pulling whenever he saw said country. He was a coward and couldn't win them over no matter how many battles he fought with them or how many enemies he took down for them. Nothing was good enough and because of that when Germany found himself in love with the American nation Prussia swore that he'd never have to feel what he had felt, what he's still feeling now.

But to his foolishness he had thought to officially court someone you'd have to be able to provide alliance, and military might, and possibly a few colonies as presents of affection. Germany had been prepared for all until America rejected his invitation. Prussia honestly had not predicted that kind of an outcome.

The two had seemed perfect for each other. They were both young, both strong, both healthy, and both growing fast. Why had the union failed? Prussia and Germany had seen it as a gesture of affection too late given on their part.

Now Germany's become like him—looking on at something he knows he can't have and possibly never can. Prussia hated seeing that sadness in his brother and after he had fallen ill from financial crisis there was also the fact that he was still lovesick. But then again, apparently, so was America.

Prussia had seen it in America's eyes, noticed it in his step. Russia had been changed in the October Revolution and his leader's new policy was to cut ties with the westerners, which meant America too. He wasn't quite sure what transpired there in Russia but he had heard enough to piece together what little he knew and what probably happened.

Tales of the massacre of the monarchy, the overthrowing of the imperialist government, and then there was the shutting down of the U.S. Embassy. They were no longer on speaking terms and Prussia wondered how it all had transpired. He remembered how Russia had longed for the boy and how disturbed he, himself, had been because of it. He wouldn't be lying when he said he was happy over the split even though he was pretty sure only he and Germany had known about the secret courtship, but still . . . America was too young to look like that, as was Germany.

"You will wait for him," Prussia ordered as he turned and placed his hand upon his brother's wide shoulder in encouragement. "He and Russia are no more. When you are better and when he is better you will go to him and swoon him over. You hear?"

"He's angry with me," Germany insisted as he bowed his head in defeat.

"How many times must I tell you it wasn't your fault?" Prussia asked with a frown. "War is war. Treaties are made and alliances are forged. What were you to do when Austria insisted?"

"Honor alliances," Germany recited as he let out a sigh and covered his mouth to hide a cough.

"Ja," Prussia nodded. "America may be upset but less so than the others. Still you will wait a few decades before you approach him, you hear?"

"How?" Germany asked. "I can't even leave home."

"Once the debts are paid then you're free to go," Prussia reminded once more, trying to keep at his best and be the optimistic for his depressed brother.

"What if he's seeing someone else again?" Germany asked as he finally looked his brother in the eye only to stare at him with concerning unforetold fear.

Prussia frowned and took his brother's jaw in his hand before giving his skull a firm shake to get a thought into his head. "He won't be," Prussia assured. "He's hurt. Very much so. He won't be seeking companionship for a long time, and when he does you'll be there with arms open for him to run into. Got it?"

Germany nodded slowly before Prussia shook his head to force him to verbally answer.

"Ja," Germany answered and then Prussia let go before patting him on the back. "Good boy, now I must be going. You know the others; if they see me in your house they'll through a fit. I'll visit every few months to check on your health. You rest and then get to work to repay them. I'll do my best to help. Later, West."

Germany watched silently as his brother, the one who had lived with him (or the one whom he had lived with) until the end of the Great War, left; forced into separation through France's treaty. He was upset and sick, a horrible combination and he silently fumed over his losses.

But even so he couldn't help but smile at the outcome of his and his brother's plan to separate Russia and America. It had worked and now it took time until Germany would once again ask America's hand for the third time.

Washington D. C. United States of America. September 1921

"Here is the treaty, sir," America said with a bright smile and a thumbs-up. "I told you I would get them to sign it via the heroic way."

His President smiled kindly and looked at the papers. America wanted to chuckle seeing how those bushy eyebrows of his President's reminded him so much of England but he didn't, because he didn't feel like chuckling, and he didn't want to think about England. He didn't want to think about any European for that matter.

"Everything looks good, Alfred," President Harding said with a smile. But when he had looked up toward the nation standing before him he had seemed to have caught him in a moment when his guard was down. There America stood; shoulders slumped and eyes dark with depressing thoughts. "Alfred?" His President's call pulled America out of his own thoughts and he was quick to widen his eyes and straighten his shoulders while putting on a smile. "Is everything alright, son?"

"Of course," America answered with a chuckle. "I just got Germany to sign our long-negotiated treaty. I'm finally out of Europe and back home. Our economy is booming. Life is just great!"

"Spare me the fake optimism," Harding said as he clasped his hands together and looked at America quite seriously. "I know what happened back there. Wilson told me everything."

"Yeah, war is hell, huh?" America said with a chuckle, offering another smile to his President. "Anyways, enough with grievous pasts, anything you want me to do, Commander?"

"No," Harding simply said as he sat back in his chair and observed the nation closely. "Why don't you relax? You've earned it." He saw through the boy's ploy; make oneself busy enough to not think about the hurtful past, it was foolproof. Or so America had thought. But the President insisted the boy stop letting it eat him from the inside out. It wasn't healthy and this was the 20's now, a new decade, a prosperous one at that despite having just come out of a war.

"Nothing?" America asked. "Nothing at all?"

"Nothing," Harding concluded.

"Okay," America said. That smile still pulling his lips taut and his teeth shining in the light of the lamps.

Harding watched closely despite the strange silence floating around them. He was watching closer and closer, looking for any signs of discomfort in the America nation but so far the teenaged nation had hid himself well and that smile was now just becoming disheartening to the President.

"Vacation it is!" America cheered as he turned himself around and threw his arms in the air. He froze for a moment and Harding's throat tightened in wonder if it was the final moment. Turning back around with a curious look on his face had certainly thrown the President off and he wondered if what the preceding President had told him had been but a lie.

"Where do you think I should go? Name a place would ya, Warry?" America asked with an attractive wink.

"How about your home?"

"Huh, why? How boring," America pouted and the President blinked. Since when had his nation begun to act like this? It was strange and somewhat unsettling.

"You need to relax," Harding said. "You've done us good, Alfred. Now it's your turn to settle down."

"What if I don't want to?"

"You need to, son. If you don't I may just order it upon you. My, imagine the day when people refuse actual vacation days," Harding muttered and chuckled as he placed the papers on his desk in a folder before turning in his seat back toward America. What he saw caused him to jump out of his chair and take cautious steps out from behind his desk toward the country.

There stood America. In the same position as before. His arms were down by his sides and his smile still present but next to his lips were lines of clear liquid. The source? His eyes. He was crying and it looked like he didn't even know it.

"Alfred?" Harding questioned as he stepped closer to the boy and reached out a hand to touch him but before any contact was made America spoke. He didn't make eye contact, he didn't even turn his head toward the man as he spoke, saying—

"If I don't do something . . . then I'll think about it . . . I don't want to think about it . . . because it hurts . . . it hurts so bad!"

The smile feigned and suddenly his lips were trembling before America closed his eyes and out came those heavy, heavy tears. With shoulders shaking and fists clenched tight America stood there sobbing.

Harding came close and pulled the boy to him who leaned his head on the human's shoulder and stood there trembling.

"It's alright to let it all out every once in a while," Harding said as he rubbed his country's back in a show of comfort. He knew it would be a long time before America ever recovered from the break up knowing their extensive history and their secret courtship, but Harding had faith that through relaxation he could ease himself down and come to terms with the issue better.

America's face was now red as he pulled away to cover his appearance from his leader but after a harsh sob escaped his mouth America's knees buckled and he met the floor. Harding gasped and knelt down to hold him. Wrapping his arms around him was all he could do to help. The grief of a nation was just as devastating as that of a human's and ran far longer than theirs ever could.

It was hard on the President to hear such cries from his nation. To see him like this. If the other nations saw him then there could be a possible risk they might attack. He was officially in a weakened state and Harding just wouldn't have that.

Letting the boy go, the President got up and dashed over toward a cart where various beverages were offered. He took up a bottle and glass and ran back over toward the weeping America before pouring the contents into the cup.

"Drink this, Alfred. It'll soothe the ache," Harding insisted and assisted the teen in holding the drink in his trembling hands before pressing it to his lips. America barely managed to down it with his sobs but even what he did he spit back up, the child just wasn't as used to alcohol yet.

Harding didn't give up, he needed the boy to remain strong at least for appearance's sake and the strong drink tended to fool everyone. So he poured more and offered it to the nation. America had looked at it like he didn't want it, but with pressing concern from his President, his leader and commander, America did as told and drank and drank and drank until he could feel and remember no more.

Russia. January 1922

Russia deserved this.

Russia deserved this.

He deserved it all.

This was all his fault.

Covering his ears, Russia could hear the agonizing screams of his people as they died in the streets, in the fields, in their beds knowing they wouldn't be able to live another day. So many were dying and it was all because of Russia.

He shouldn't have conformed to the Bolsheviks. He should have never let the Red Army win. He should have never . . . to America . . . he had been choking him . . . trying to kill him!

"N-Nyet!" Russia cried out. He could no longer take in the cries of his people and simple stood himself up off the floor and ran out into the wintery white raging around. He wasn't dressed for the weather but it didn't matter, you'd die no matter if you were. But Russia ran and ran with his hands squeezing his skull but the cries became louder and louder until the pain surged through his body and he collapsed upon the icy ground in the midst of the wilderness.

The heavy snow fell upon Russia's form and nearly covered his being if it hadn't been for the biting wind sweeping down and chilling his frame.

"Make them stop . . . General Winter, make them stop!" Russia cried out as he trembled. The cries were so loud and Russia could barely even hear the wind howling around him much less the sound of a growling animal.

When he had heard the threatening sound Russia looked up and saw the creature. Its teeth were bare and the fur on the nape of its neck stood on end. It was a beautiful creature, pure white, like the snow surrounding, but it offered so much danger and threat as it circled Russia.

'You can't run from them. They are you, and you are they. They die, you die. Is fun circle of lives.'

"What have I done?" Russia cried out. "How have I angered you? You! You wanted this!"

The wolf seemed to chuckle at him as its jaw moved up and down almost as if it were speaking for the General. Maybe it was, or maybe Russia was just as insane as the others say.

'I have left you alone in relative peace for the past two centuries and you dare accuse me of wrong? If anyone then it is you. Your decisions led to this; your alliances, and your tie-cuts.'

"Tie-cuts?" Russia questioned. "Alfred?"

The wolf shook itself before scrapping up some snow with its hind legs and once again continuing its circulation of Russia.

'Ah, yes, what a pretty little thing. I'm so glad you enjoyed staring at him through a glass wall. He had been there for you to touch as you please, but you decided I had lied to you about his creation.'

"Had you? !" Russia cried out, recalling how Lenin had informed him that it had not been America that the General had crafted for him as a mate.

'How dare you question me?' The white wolf growled and bore its red gums once more with a growl and Russia felt the pressing chill upon him again, biting into his bare skin. 'I am not inclined to answer you, but you amuse me with your pathetic attempts to understand things you never will.'

The wolf approached him and suddenly a form appeared from it, it was the ghost of the General. The spirit whom Russia had known since the day of his birth. Kneeling down the General placed his hands upon Russia's cold cheeks and Russia cried out as ice began caking over his skin and crawling up toward his eyes and down his neck where no scarf could protect and warm.

'He is my death,' The General stated with a frown. 'He was the warmth in my coldness. The sunshine in my night. The softness toward my bitterness. He lives; I die. He dies; I live. You choose him, or you choose me.'

What was he saying? Why was the General saying this to him?

'I am your protection and he is your undoing,' the old ghost said as he caressed Russia's cheek, numbing the nerves imbedded into the nation's skin.

"Nyet!" Russia gasped, pulling his face away and sitting up with his knees digging into the cold wet snow. "Why would you create him and tell me he was mine to hold when you didn't wish it yourself? ! Why would you be so cruel to your faithful servant?"

'More than lenient I have been to you. I even stooped so low into giving you your heart's desire. He is there and it was up to you to take him. But know now this that if you do then you will surely die. Without my presence you have nothing.'

"You're a bastard!" Russia shouted to the howling wind whirling around him. "Why, why make me suffer like this? Is this what you wanted? Did you want me to kill him? Did you want me to isolate myself in your domain? Answer me!"

'Da,' The General answered with a chuckle. 'I knew you would choose me because I am your god and you are my faithful worshiper.'

"I'll forget you, I swear it!" Russia spat as he covered his ears to the noise around and closed his eyes tightly to block any vision of the spirit before him.

The General chuckled and floated down closer to Russia. He reached out his hand and placed it upon Russia's head, watching as the ice crystals froze the strands of hair. 'You are a very hopeless fool, slave. You wish to see the one who you so foolishly place you love upon? Da, so be it.'

Russia's eyes shot open at the sight the General generated in his mind. There America was, laying on a couch, his body trembling and his hands shaking as he laid his head upon his President's lap and cried. The human looked to be trying to comfort him with gentle pats through those golden locks but America's lips just parted and out came the cries. Russia couldn't hear them, but he could feel them and he ached so much.

'You wanted me to make the cries of your people stop, da? So be it. Hear his instead.'

Russia curled in on himself, his hands slamming against his ears as America's cries were vocalized. They were loud, full of so much hurt and agony. They were worse than the cries of his people because they cried out of death's chase. America was crying for a love lost, from the torment and ache of a broken heart. And Russia had caused those cries. It was his fault. His entire fault!

"Stop it!" Russia cried out as he rolled himself away and fell face-first into the snow as if one dead. There he laid and waited for death to take him. If so then America wouldn't have to cry any longer. He would know that the one who caused him so much heartache was gone and he could smile again. That's what he wanted, right?

'Your people have chosen me, Rossiya. _You_ have chosen me. In time you will forget your love—l

"Nyet!"

'—and you will offer me sacrifice—'

"Nyet!"

'—and you will become strong once more. Much stronger than when swooned by that death of mine.'

"Nyet!" Russia cried out once more and glared up at the General with hate-filled eyes. "I hope he kills you! I hope you vanish from this earth and never return!"

The General chuckled once more.

'Me? I am a god!' He then bent his frame and stared at Russia with hollow eyes. Russia attempted to stand his ground but as he gazed into those empty pits Russia's eyes widened in horror at what he saw. 'You see? I have lived many lifetimes, and each time the world destroys itself over and over I am there. I thrive and I will once it is destroyed again. I have seen millions of nations rise and fall. Some I have guided some have strayed from me. But I am! You were there and so was he. Different names, but the same forms. You hadn't listened to me that time either and you both perished. I am curious as to how this end shall play. Now rest, rest and forget. Let your mind be tortured by murder and your body by famine. I will rebuild you and I will make you strong.'

"Then let me have him," Russia whispered as the General placed his hand upon his eyes and eased the lids closed.

The General smiled and nodded. 'Da, the same way you had killed him previously. If you run to him then I will cease and so will you. If you take him for yourself then he will cease . . . and so will you. Is a fun game; one that always repeats.'

Looking down the Russian had fallen into slumber. General Winter smiled as his form began dispersing with the wind around. Russia's men would find him. They would heal him. He would become something new, but his old self would never disappear. It never did. No matter how many times he was reborn.

Even though the cycle seemed to be on near repetition, the General never grew old of seeing the nation prove himself faithful time and time again by taking his death, that young boy, and defiling him until he was frozen over and dead. Some things would never change but the General's death was also his servant's death as well. It was something he would never tell him, or at least something he'd never remember. After that boy's mind, soul, and body was destroyed then Russia's heart would give out and thus the process would start over all again with the winter spirit as the spectator.

Some things would just never change and the General would make sure they stayed that way. So he kept close to Russia as his men found him and carried him back to his home where they warmed him with fires and vodka and tales to dominate the Westerners, especially a young upcoming power. And Russia did nothing but listen and let those words change his heart.

* * *

**Daughter Of The Revolution: This chapter had to come eventually. Sorries! DX Soes, hope you enjoyed but don't worry there is still more to come with even the possibility of future RusAme scenes ;) Possibility though, not guaranteeing what with their history and stuff . . . **

**History Time!**

**Time frame: Wold War I [28 July 1914 – 11 November 1918]**

**The Treaty of Versailles wasn't too popular with the Americans and so they opted to sign a separate treaty of their own with Germany which was, United States–Germany Peace Treaty.**

**When France says, "America is far away, protected by the ocean. Not even Napoleon himself could touch England. You are both sheltered; we are not," to America that was actually a quote from The French Prime Minister Georges Clemenceau to President Woodrow Wilson after the American's had explained there upset with France's treaty thinking it too harsh on the Germans.**

**Prussia no longer controlling Germany or being allowed to speak to him much is reference to the removal of the German Empire's Kaiser, Wilhelm II who was forced from his throne as the Empire was disbanded. He was of Prussian descent as were the other Emperors of the German Empire and so that is why Prussia was head because his kings were Germany's kings.**

**And, believe it or not, but the Germans had a major role to play in Russia's Revolution, particularly because they shipped Vladimir Lenin (who is the same man torturing and shaping Russia) back to Russia to start revolts and encourage riots and overthrow the Tsar and then murder them [Romanov Massacre July 17th 1918]. Yay for revolutions! So, while the Germans were like puppeteers their main mission was to get Russia out of the war so they could focus on the western front and move their troops out of the eastern front they had been holding against Russia. It worked and Russia up and left the war because of said reasons above. Manacle plotting for ya.**

**Also, the Germans apparently didn't want to get the U.S.A. involved in the war since they already had their plate full buuuuut, they honestly had no choice. The English blockaded them from any supplies being traded with the Americans so the Americans could really only trade with the allies. That wasn't good so the Germans had tried to "starve" England by sinking U.S. ships carrying cargo thus pissing off the Americans thus forcing congress to declare war. Honestly, what else did they expect to happen?**

**The Russian Revolution/or Russian Civil War had created two separate armies. The White Army which were for imperialism and then the Red Army which were for communism and socialism. When Lenin stabs Russia's heart it is white to represent the resisting army but then bleeds red in color as sign that the Red Army eventually triumphed. Simple visual symbolics :)**

**Around that time we see the Polar Bear Expedition and the American Expeditionary Force Siberia of which a couple thousand American soldiers were sent to Russia along with other allied garrisons to put a stop to the uprising and fight the growing Red Army. But in the end it was a failure and the Americans, though they knew they were losing a good ally, didn't want the Russian people to see them as an invading empire and so withdrew their men.**

**Following the Bolshevik Revolution, President Woodrow Wilson instructed U.S. diplomats to withhold official and unofficial recognition of the new Bolshevik  
Government. U.S. Ambassador David Francis remained in Russia until November 1918, but was never replaced. On September 14, 1919, the U.S. Embassy in Russia closed its doors. No more relations :(**

**Also, if any of you lovely readers could tell, America is becoming, well America. With his, "I'm the hero!" gig and whatnot. But it begins to appear here for reasons. One it was to hide his hurt heart and two it was this little bit right here, After the Versailles conference President Woodrow Wilson claimed that "at last the world knows America as the savior of the world!" There you have it! That's where his hero complex really begins to kick in! I mean it was somewhat there before but he was mostly isolating it until Mr. Wilson goes and says that and lets it soak into America's brain. **

**America is now entering the "Roaring Twenties" which is infamous for rich people and booze and smoking and gambling and all that jazz. So America will be doing a lot of that to get his mind off of his breakup, that is until the hangover comes (cough, cough, the Great Depression, cough).**

**1921-1923: Great Famine in Russia.** **Widespread famine in Russia, exacerbated by war and political upheaval, took the lives of over seven million people from 1921-1923. Despite the absence of official relations between the United States and Russia, the U.S. Government extended considerable relief to the Russian people. I would have had America take a chance at coming with relief himself but he's still heartbroken and crying his eyes out and drowning his soul in alcohol as you could see.**

**General Winter is touching on some sensitive ground here and is suggesting that the world has been redone over and over with civilization after civilization. Possibly? Maybe. Don't know, but the concept is underlined. If that is the case then is this outcome going to be any different? General Winter seems to know all, huh? Well, we'll find out as history progresses.**

**And finally, Russia's become the Russia we know!**

**1922: Establishment of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics ** **The Bolsheviks ultimately triumphed over the "Whites" and began to centralize power in the hands of the more powerful Bolsheviks in Moscow. By 1922, Russia, Belarus, Ukraine, and Transcaucasia (Georgia, Armenia, Azerbaijan) joined to form the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR). Uzbekistan, Turkestan, Tadzhik, Kazakhstan, and Kirghiz joined the Union in later years.**

**Yay for Soviet Russia! We'll see what he will do when he finally sees America again after his transformation ;)**


	11. Love is a Battlefield

Tunisia. March 1943

If Japan hadn't been an ally, and at that a _strong_ ally, Germany might have gone against their pact because of their hasty imperial needs.

Setting down on his cot, Germany let his gun drop to his feet and release his aching hands that continued to clutch in the same position as if they still had a gun in their grasp. Finally being able to stretch his fingers felt good but the overbearing heat did not. Taking off his jacket and tossing it across his room he sighed and cradled his head in his arms.

He had won, yes, but he was exhausted from the heat and the realization that the enemy was growing quicker than he'd like thanks to his own "friend."

"Veeee~, Germany, what's the matter? You look beat."

Yet again Germany's exhaustion hit him like a freight train and he grumbled while looking up at his ally. The idiotic nation was smiling at him with his eyes closed, as usual, and all Germany wanted to do was to punch him just to get that expression to change.

"Cheer up, sour kitty, we won the battle!" Italy cheered with an enthusiastic fist pump.

"Ja," Germany grumbled along but couldn't help but let the long drawn-out sigh leave his lips. It wasn't like Italy would know why he was so upset. That fool couldn't read a nation no matter what they looked like. Besides, he often felt he was the only one who saw things into perspective and on the grander scale.

Save America for last, that had been Germany's internal motto up until December of 1941. He supposed it would have been wise for him to share this tidbit of information with the Japanese Empire. Too late for that, what's done was done and as Germany looked down at his calloused hands he couldn't help the fact that he had held a gun and pointed it at the young nation who was fighting alongside England. He had shot at him, as were the orders, and he had watched him flee with England. That was that. America was his enemy and Germany doubted he'd receive any amount of reconciliation.

After the war was over he'd . . . what would he do? Remembrance of the First World War came to mind and the image of America's face and how angry he'd been at him and his people. This time he heard of the American's anger toward the Japanese or anyone with slanted eyes for that matter. Germany knew America had some kind of control over his people's hate. That wasn't to say it didn't affect him, but Germany had witnessed over and over how America would place it away and hide it despite facing Japan or facing Germany. He was a smart boy, knowing that anger could lead him down to trip up during something as important as a battle. So Germany hoped for the best and didn't wish to see those angry eyes glaring at him.

He rather had them look toward Japan with menace than himself. If Japan was nothing more than a scapegoat then he's served his purpose well, for the time being. Ally was an ally and enemy was an enemy—at least until the war was over.

"Until the war is over," Germany said, letting out a sigh as he wiped the sweat off of his face.

"It will be soon by how strong we are!" Oh, that was right; Italy was still present and was looking at Germany with admiration. "Say, Germany?"

"Ja?"

"What do you want to do after the war is over?" Italy asked curiously as he took a seat next to him on his cot without permission, like anyone could stop the Italian if they tried.

After the war? The heat from battle and the exhaustion of the stress of having to deal with an added ally to the Allies, and a powerful one at that, Germany rarely had time to think on these things. To imagine the world after the war, one shaped by himself. It was a much better world where Russia was stripped of any might that could seem threatening and was forced to centuries and centuries of house arrest; where Poland was nothing but an annoying memory to those who felt the need to remember the imbecile; where Asia was put on a leash and substantial trade was freely allowed to the Germans via the rule of the Japanese; where the Western Hemisphere was evenly divided amongst the Axis, Japan gaining the islands and pacific in its entirety, where Italy has taken the Catholic ruled South America and Germany, because he persisted, has taken North America.

He would be teaching both Canada and America to speak his native language, America always having an easier time thanks to all that German blood already coursing through his veins. Just the thought of the beautiful country speaking to him in his own tongue aroused a pleasure in Germany and he had decided that he would spend a majority of his time at his house, or America would be spending a long time at his own home, never letting the American out of his presence. Showing off what was his and had been his for a long time to the world that could do nothing about it.

_"Why would you want to catch someone who is free?"_ Suddenly America's voice had rung throughout Germany's head and he remembered his words all those decades ago when he had told him how he wanted to keep him close and just show him off. America hadn't liked the idea and probably wouldn't like a world of Germany's future. Now the German wondered if said nation would still infatuate him when his wings were clipped. Was it the freedom that attracted Germany to him? Or something else?

Germany decided to just dwell on the boy's good looks as a possibility for his attraction so nothing short of hindrance in plan got in his way. He had to keep his mind clear and on his goal. He liked his future and he would take good care of America when the time came. All the young nation had to do was give him a chance. He hadn't before and Germany would make sure he regretted it in understanding how good of a lover Germany could be to him.

War was an easy excuse to never take "no" for an answer. So if Germany had to decimate America in the war just to keep him from resisting him then he would and in the end America would understand that it was out of love for him and that Germany didn't want him in the war and would do whatever need be to coerce him to leave.

After all, everyone believed this World War to be one of the worst. Many a nation would lose much, many a nation would gain much. Scars would be received. Territories handed over. Growth and deterioration.

There were to emerge a Superpower from this and Germany swore it to be him despite Japan's rise in challenge. When he became one, something so akin to the Roman Empire of old, then Germany could protect his assets better and America would never have to fight for himself again when Germany would fight in his stead once his armies were destroyed.

Soviet Embassy, Tehran, Iran. November 28th 1943

Russia didn't like the Germans. He hadn't for thousands of years and doubted that any such alliance or treaty could persuade his mind from otherwise supporting their kind. He had tried to warn his leader that the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact was full of lies but he didn't listen. Of course he didn't and now look at them. They were currently on assault against Germany and their allies. Russia deemed this all avoidable if his leader would have taken notice of their past grievances with the Germans and read the pattern, but he'd been a fool and now said leader has invited circumstance-allies to their embassy if only to have them laugh in his face at his failure and glare at him with underlined threats.

Well, Russia had only transformed a few decades ago so of course his leader would be weary of his own opinion. After all, he's constantly reminded day by day that he doesn't have his own opinion and that "Comrade Stalin's way is the only way."

Well Russia could say he was somewhat excited about the upcoming meeting. People were calling it the gathering of the "Big Three" and it was interesting how the world saw those certain selected leaders as the top dogs. Of course Stalin, as well as Russia, wanted him to be the top of the tops and with hopes of pushing his weight around in the meeting anxiously awaited the arrival of next country.

He had assumed it to be England, that country was quick to make himself known when a war, especially a world war, took place. He was always in everyone's houses, meeting with diplomats, councils, leaders, etc. Priding himself for being on time Russia mulled over the fact he'd be seeing him soon. While Russia didn't have too many recent grievances with him his company was undesirable. He tended to get upset so easily if things didn't go his way like the princess he was. Well he was in his territory now so he'd just have to sit and wait his turn to talk like a good little boy and the thought of that made Russia quite eager to get the meeting attended if only to see that upset feature on England's ugly face over his lack of control.

But . . . in all honesty, Russia felt slightly sick what with the way his heart kept hitting his ribcage. At first it started as an unpredictable occurrence but then it became regular with each meeting Russia attended with his leader who expressed his desire to meet the other powerful countries and indeed one of those countries happened to be an ex. The breakup, as Stalin had as well known, had been messy, with cuts from allegations and promises of refusal of recognition. Ever since then the two had been at odds and it had all been because of the bitter departure.

Russia opted not to think about how it had happened. His memory always fogged and the tight pain in his chest could become quite unbearable that even thirty bottles of vodka wouldn't heal the symptom of. It was a hassle just to get himself out of such a delirious mood and it annoyed his leader to no end so he didn't dwell on the ideas and images of that time, as per Stalin's orders. But even now Russia could feel the slight indications of said familiar pain when informed that the United States of America would be attending the meeting in tow with his leader.

After being an avid supplier Stalin had been grateful for his willingness to help, as had Russia, but he had never thought he'd be seeing him so soon especially in a war that he had claimed neutrality in. But then again, this reminded him of a previous situation so very similar. Perhaps in another war when . . . ah, it hurt just trying to dig up old memories so Russia pushed it aside and waited by the embassy roadway, watching for the vehicles carrying said countries and leaders.

Maybe just a glimpse would ease his discomfort.

Putting on that smile Stalin told him to always keep when in front of their current "friends" Russia watched as a squad of vehicles pulled up and then . . . it seemed like his annoying heart had stopped beating all together.

There he was. He hadn't seen him in, oh, God it's been decades. A small image of his last encounter with the nation had appeared in Russia's vision and the image held a younger version of the form he beheld now. This time, those sad blue eyes held determination, and those frowning lips were pulled straight in focus as he helped his leader into his wheelchair and then pushed him toward the building himself, ignoring the offered help from the delegates.

Alfred F. Jones. Russia had read his human-given name in a file Stalin had handed him to read and memorize, but after some jogging on his mental state he realized he hadn't needed the file his leader insisted he take. He had known this nation for a long, long time.

Russia suddenly found his smiling façade slipping as the American and his weary leader approached. He had rehearsed his meeting with the both of them. Smile and shake their hands in greeting. Stalin wanted no less. But there he was, looking at the young nation with no smile, not offering any hand. He simply stared and stared until the younger nation looked away and said himself—

"Thank-you very much for meeting with us, Soviet Russia," America said albeit without meeting gaze. It had been a rude response because of lack of eye contact and his leader scolded him for it but Russia had met his eyes for a moment and it seemed the American didn't quite like looking at him.

"Oh, da, you are very welcome. I am very glad that even Mr. Roosevelt himself attended. What a pleasantry. My leader will be very honored by your delicate arrival," Russia said, offering that smile for the leader but when he offered it to the country he watched the boy's gaze avert once more. He felt a slight offense because of it but then again there was an understanding that Russia himself wondered if he truly understood. "If you would follow me."

It had been the first time their leaders had met and Russia and America stood away to watch them get acquainted.

"Where is England?" America asked, still not turning to look at Russia, instead he kept his gaze on the two leaders who shook hands and exchanged welcoming greetings.

"You've always been such a daddy's boy," Russia said with a chuckle. "Whenever there's a conflict or war you're always first to slide to his side. Such a faithful child."

He could tell America wasn't up for the teasing or the jokes. He watched the tension of the boy's square jaw react to the way Russia was talking to him. Even his gaze zoned in on the leaders if just to block the Russian out of his vision. How rude. He didn't remember him being like such.

If fact, he remembered a different boy entirely. Yes, that was right . . . Russia still remembered even after the transformation and the years spent isolated from each other. The memory was hazy, yes, but if Russia really focused his attention in digging through the sludge of his dark mind then he'd come up with the remembrance of a young and bright child nation who was always smiling, always saying optimistic things, especially to him.

Yes, he remembered that once upon a time America had loved him, but he couldn't handle the demands of Russia's people and that love vanished as seen now in America's frown while he watched their leaders.

Russia had honestly wanted to start some sort of conversation with him. The silence was demanding and not at all pleasant. It was upsetting that the nation still strained to look and talk to him while his leader seemed more than willing.

Well, if Russia wanted a conversation then he'd have to strike one himself that America was inclined to engage. So he opened his mouth and about began talking but that chance never came as England and his leader came and interrupted his opportunity.

"America, Russia." England said as he approached the nations while his leader left to join the other conversing two leaders.

Russia smiled that smile again and watched out of the corner of his eye as America offered a smile. It was more or less a genuine smile and Russia had understood it to be because the two nations had been partners in the war since their inauguration into the conflict.

"Glad you could make it," England said as he looked toward America. "How is his health?"

"Not that great, but he persisted," America said, the two leaving Russia out of the conversation as they spoke about the health of America's leader.

"This is why I wished to meet elsewhere," England said with a sad sigh before turning a strained gaze up toward Russia. "But _you_ insisted we meet _here_. You do realize that Mr. Roosevelt's health is deteriorating and that he and America had flown over seven thousand miles just to attend?"

"Da," Russia said with a nod. "But my leader would not sway by my words either. I thought you knew that, England."

England simply rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. The greeting was pleasant but the demands were something else entirely. Stalin had nothing but demands and Churchill and Roosevelt could do nothing but listen with the possibility of accepting every term he set out. The upset was evident in both of them while America kept more quiet than England, especially at the dinner.

"This is rather insulting, Russia. I hope you know that," England stated as he dug into the steak served to them. The nations were given a separate room joined to the main dining room where their leaders were discussing more matters and enjoying their own meal. It was a delight to steal themselves away from their human masters and companions because at times they could relate and discuss things their leaders would never understand, and the company was always more pleasing than a short-lived human no matter it an enemy nation.

"I cannot help it if my leader deems those subjects to discuss important, nor can I help the fact that my armies continue to win against Germany," Russia stated as he took a sip of the wine served before placing the glass down gently and staring at the two nations. England was currently sawing into his meat without a glance toward anyone besides the plate in front of him and America, well, the boy hadn't said much and by the look on his face as he monotonously poked at the dinner he'd barely eaten he looked like he didn't want to be there.

"Yes, well, you're not fighting him in Africa, now are you?" England said as he tore his gaze away from his food to look at Russia once. "America and I are."

"Da, and a wonderful job you're doing at that from what I hear from my scouts," Russia said with a chuckle. He glanced toward America again and noticed he had placed his silverware down and laid his hands in his lap, keeping his silence. "Is the meal not to your liking, Amerika? I apologize if my cooks didn't know how to create hamburgers and hotdogs, but they found the protein to be lacking and so made this instead." Russia had said it as an intended joke to get some sort of reaction out of the strangely quiet nation. Even if it was taken as an insult Russia didn't mind, as long as he'd look at him or say some kind of remark. But nothing. He said nothing.

"Will you let him rest, Russia?" England asked with a sigh as he wiped his mouth with the napkin cloth and then placed it in his lap. "He's just traveled back to his land to personally escort his leader here. You know he's exhausted and deftly not in the mood to take your retorts."

"If that is the case then why don't you retire yourself for the evening?" Russia suggested as he leaned back in his chair, looking toward the American who had eventually met his gaze. When America said nothing Russia offered a smile. "Da?"

Finally with a nod America muttered a quiet pardon before getting up and leaving the servants to dispose of his full plate. As he left England sighed. "He didn't want to come back here, you know?"

Russia quietly listened as England spoke.

"I . . . we needed him to enter. So after Japan attacked him . . . I honestly saw it as a blessing," England admitted shamefully. "Don't tell him I told you this but it's been eating away at me ever since he joined and I felt the need to get it off my chest."

"Da, I'm just surprised you feel at ease telling me this," Russia said knowing that he and England never really saw eye-to-eye.

"Don't get any ideas. You just happen to be the only other country with me at present," England clarified. "But realize that he's fighting two fronts. It's hard on him."

"Da, I know the feeling," Russia said with a nod. He was fighting Japan with China as well as Germany and Prussia. He knew how America felt with two fronts, but it was all the more better to get the enemy strained with the stress of two fronts, which is why the three were having this meeting.

Convenience ally or not Russia felt the need to ease America's discomfort. After his leader informed him of talks going their way Russia felt he needn't press the decision making with his presence and so he roamed the embassy halls when he had entered a wing where he was certain the American company had been appointed rooms.

Passing by he chanced a glimpse inside one of the rooms where the door was set ajar. Russia had noticed it to be America's leader's room and inside is where the nation was, laying his unhealthy leader down in bed and making sure he had everything he needed before he turned off the lights. After exiting the President's room Russia hid himself behind the corner of the hall and quietly observed America.

Ever so quiet he strode toward his room like a chore for him to do and when he entered he had neglected to shut his door and Russia had realized it was for the purpose of gathering his belongings and heading toward the showers down the hall. When he had exited his room with his soap and clothes rolled up in his arms and a bath robe wrapped around his waist he had noticed the Russian.

"Is there something wrong?" America asked with a look on concern, one of the first emotions Russia's seen him emit since arriving to his embassy.

"Nyet," Russia said. "I was just strolling around and ended up here. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Just getting ready for bed," America admitted with a shrug and proceeded to continue his set path toward the showers. But Russia's gawk had been felt as America had turned his back to him. When America turned back to see Russia's observing eyes he knew he had been looking at _it_.

"Japan?" Russia asked as his violet gaze roamed over the ugly scar marring the boy's broad and muscled back. He watched America reach around and touch it lightly before removing his hand entirely. "Does it hurt you still?"

"I heal fast, if you recall," America said, his blue gaze taking a quick glance toward Russia before offering him his back.

Russia let out a chuckle that caught the American's attention to turn toward him curiously. "It's been decades since we last had relations, America, and I don't know if you know but it had been a harrowing time for me. I hadn't been so focused on you as much as the current state of my government and people."

"Is that what really happened?" America asked his eyes narrowing. "You really don't remember anything?"

"I'm a new creature, America," Russia said, more like recited. Lenin and the others had taught him to keep smiling, to always remember he was different and to never forget that he was changed. But of course that did not mean he didn't remember. Of course he remembered . . . it just took extra effort on his part to search through those dark cellars he called his mind and that was effort he wasn't willing to exhaust.

Glancing down Russia watched America let out a long sigh. He looked upset but was composing himself well.

"Do you . . . remember what we were supposed to do . . . when we met again? Where we were supposed to meet?" When America looked up at Russia the older nation was surprised to see a gentler look in America's baby blue eyes.

Why was America bringing that up, especially now? How could he? How dare he make him feel like this?

Russia moved his arms behind his frame to hide the fact that his fists were trembling tight. The memory always put a strain on him and when jogged it hurt to think back simply because Russia, as himself, missed the way he used to be. He missed his monarchy, he missed his imperial empire, and more importantly . . . he missed his lover whom he was forced to give up after the uprising.

"I'm certain there are things in your civil war that escape your mind," Russia offered as an excuse to keep his sanity and poise in front of the young and beautiful American. Perhaps one day he would tell the American he remembered when his leaders weren't near, listening to him, watching him—perhaps, possibly before he really did forget.

Was that hurt?

Russia watched the American part his lips. There would have been a sigh but America caught his breath. When he looked up at Russia his brow lowered and his eyes focused on the older nation in front of him.

"Yeah? Too bad for you."

What? Did Russia hear that right? Since when did America suddenly start insulting something as traumatizing as a civil war transformation when he had been on the brink of it himself? It wasn't a pleasant process and therefore something the other nations stay clear of when selecting to be rude about.

America's eyes scanned Russia's as if waiting for an answer, looking for some kind of reaction to his comment. "Did you hear me?"

Letting out a hard sigh Russia felt his gut harden and then came the upset. How could Little America talk to him like that? Apparently he needed a lesson in manners and one of the best ways right now was to shun him.

"Da," Russia said as he narrowed his eyes at America and then turned to leave without a proper farewell. When he turned the corner to leave he glanced one last time back at the American and then he noticed something strange. America had his eyes glanced down and the frown on his lips looked quite . . . sad. Russia observed him before watching the American turn and head back toward the showers.

He guessed their strained relationship would possibly be like this for a while. Russia wondered if there was any hope at reconciliation though he doubted it with his leaders' disapproval of the young country. Even so, his heart continued to pound against his chest every time he saw the boy and he found the only remedy was to turn his eyes away, to shut his ears off from the sound of his voice and to guide his thoughts away from those of their once loving past.

Stalin had thought this a good idea, and so Russia agreed with him.

Brisbane, Australia. December 1943

"How did the talks go, America?"

Raising his head from the desk America fixed his glasses and focused on the form in front of him. With a sigh he leaned up and then back into his chair. He honestly didn't feel like getting into too much detail with his little brother, but he was persistent and likely wouldn't leave him alone until he heard everything.

"Not mine or England's way if that's what you want to know," America said with a sigh as he rolled his eyes closed. He came there to rest for a little while before seeing to his Generals in the Pacific Theatre and then heading back to England to help out in Africa and then onwards to Europe. He didn't need Australia to harp on him like the others.

With keen ears America observed Australia's continuous presence in the room. Opening one eye he noticed the younger still standing there. He looked uneasy and opened his mouth multiple times without uttering a single word. Frustrated, America rose a brow and looked at him expectantly, waiting for his question to voice itself, whatever it was.

"How was . . . Russia?" Australia finally managed to ask.

That was right; Australia was the only other country who had known about his relationship with the nation. It was because of this he seemed to confide in him in a way, though America was quiet about the dissolved relationship even to his leaders. Australia though could see that the past break-up continued to stress his older brother and felt he needed to bring up the subject over emotional distress issues.

"He was the same as usual," America said with a sigh as he leaned his elbows on the desk and let his gaze roam around, reminiscing in memories.

"That's not what I mean and ya know that," Australia pointed out, looking sincerely concerned for his brother's attitude toward the visit. "Look, ya've been down ever since ya arrived here. I know you're going back to Africa soon but you're no good to anyone if your mind isn't in the right place."

America offered his little brother a smile. The kid was becoming smart and strong. After the potential threat of Japan invading his home had settled and the fright waned America knew it was safe to leave for longer periods of time and let the country defend himself alongside his Generals. These past couple of years had forced them together for necessities in strongholds and of course protection which America gladly gave. Despite some spats he and Australia have become closer than before and now all the brunette did was read him like an open book despite their bonding of only a couple of years.

"The Russia I had seen wasn't the Russia I hear about now from dad," Australia stated as his green eyes gazed hard into America's own, standing his ground to speak on the same level. "The Russia that ya were in love with isn't the same Russia today. I'm not stupid, America."

America frowned. Did he always wear his heart on his sleeve? This was a time for war not for reflecting on broken and regrettable relationships. Didn't Australia see that? What was he trying to accomplish by bringing this issue up? America was already tired of thinking about it, especially about their last meeting.

"I tried talking to him but the results proved unfruitful," America stated, glancing away from the younger country who was all ears.

Australia looked disheartened. Honestly it should be more so America than him yet every time he inquired about the situation with the Allies and America's relations with them, whenever it got to Russia America would become quiet and that was that.

"Nothing at all?" Australia asked with a sad smile. He had known it was highly unlikely that Russia had stayed the same after the civil war, but he had hoped for America's happiness he had been wrong. His hopes always seemed to be dashed. All he ever wanted was to see America smile again, truly smile, like he used to when he and Russia had been courting.

"He doesn't remember. He told me."

Australia now frowned before an idea came to mind and he asked, "Did you—?" But America beat him to it.

With a nod, America said, "I tried."

"Even in his own language?" Australia asked.

"Yeah, but I don't think he understood me. He's gone," America said with a sad smile. "Thanks for supporting me though. You don't have to expect anymore."

"I'm really sorry," Australia apologized as he glanced down at his shoes sadly. "I had thought that if he heard you say it in his own tongue then maybe he'd remember."

"His boss had his reins tight," America said before standing up and turning around to look out of the window to see a harbor baring multiple American ships as well as some of Australia's. "Mine couldn't get a word in, nor could England's. I don't think he likes me too much, and in turn neither does Russia."

"Then there's no chance of reconciliation?" Australia inquired. He knew that if there were such a chance then America would definitely be the happiest country on earth. He had seen his love for the other. He had witnessed even Russia's affection for America. Now, all of that love seemingly the world couldn't even hold was gone? That just didn't sound right to Australia. Couldn't be.

"Not as long as he's controlled by people like those," America said remembering the image of Russia's leader, remembering his demands, and remembering him especially all those years ago when he had attacked America after trying to save Russia from the Red Army.

"Then fight them."

America blinked. He turned toward Australia who seemed intent to save the hopeless. America had accepted it a long time ago. Sure he attempted Australia's suggestions in getting the Russian to remember or at least think about how the two had been, but after the failure in Tehran, America had become depressed once more and it wasn't good for him to feel this way as he was heading back into the war to fight next to countries like France and England, and the others. Fight them? No, America was never one to get involved in other country's business . . . not with internal affairs.

"If Russia wants them then—"

"There had been a civil war; ya know he didn't want it. So why do ya accept it? Why didn't ya fight back?" Australia asked. "I don't like seeing ya like this. I don't."

"Because I didn't want to be seen as the 'bad guy'," America stated after remembering the reason for pulling his soldiers out of Russia's home when those men took over the country and transformed his Ivan into something else he's never seen before and could never cooperate with.

"But ya already are for quitting," Australia persisted. "Maybe that's why Russia's given up on ya, because ya gave up on him."

America gapped at Australia. Since when did he talk to him like this? Before he had been so optimistic and promising about attempting some relationship mending, but now he was biting America's head off. Why did he even care about America's relationships anyways? No one else did.

Given up on Russia? Ha! Did Australia even know the heartache of a breakup? America had cried his eyes out for years when he found himself forgetting his daily glass of whiskey or bourbon. The parties, the smoke-filled casinos, all to get his mind away from Russia but then came the crash and even those time-consuming things weren't enough. Nothing but reflecting on his failures and the biggest one was himself for not fighting against the backlash and hate of the people of Russia. Australia was right; he should have fought tooth and nail for Russia. He had loved him with all his heart and when things got gruesome and interests were no longer "interesting" then he left. What kind of a partner was he if he just gave up like that?

Australia was right so much that it was awakening a hurt in America that he didn't want. Perhaps Russia did indeed remember and because of so didn't want such a quitter. America wouldn't blame him. But even after nearly two decades of separation, it still hurt to think about it. Now that they had officially met as the United States of America and the Soviet Union it was worse. He looked the same, but just thought differently as he assumed. Standing near, but not being able to stand closer hurt America after memories of how intimate caresses used to be exchanged because of the need to touch came flooding back. Where gentle glances were once held now careless and dare he say cold glares were shot his way.

When the meeting at Tehran was over with America had gotten out as fast as possible. He had thought he was over it all, maybe he was, but the heartache still lingered.

But who was to blame for the break? America or Russia? Maybe it was America. Maybe it was Russia. Maybe it was a little bit of both. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be. America had thought about that aspect and on that thought he was comforted, thinking that his youth-ridden mind had clouded his judgment and thrust himself into something too early for his adolescent form. So in the end he saw the break as a blessing—at least in his logic deducing mind—but his heart tended to be a different matter despite his people's feelings now toward the potentially threatening nation.

"Maybe you're right," America said to Australia while he kept his gaze out the window toward the harbor and his fleet, a thing of pride now. "Or maybe I was too young to understand what the hell I was doing. I'm better off on my own. Why? Because someone once told me national relationships never last."

"True, but if ya continue to feed them then they won't wane," Australia said. "I won't be leaving your side for a long time, America. I promise ya this."

America turned and offered a thankful smile to his brother. He inclined his head in acknowledgement to that bold statement. "I'll take your word for that," America said before letting out a sigh and said, "We'll probably be meeting again one more time. Once we enter Europe I'm certain we'll cross paths more than once."

"Just promise me you'll take care of yourself," Australia spoke up with concern that flattered America. It felt nice to have a relative actually concern themselves for your wellbeing and Australia genuinely cared. "We still got Japan to see to. I can't take him on by myself."

"I know," America said, frowning at the other front he'd have to thrust himself into after the war in Europe was fought and hopefully won soon. "But I'm working on something to end this war quickly. Just wait for me, okay?" When he looked back at Australia the teen nodded and saluted him. America smiled in kind and returned the salute before excusing himself and preparing to leave.

Eastern Front. December 16th 1944

Prussia rubbed his hands together but it was no use. No amount of friction heated his cold skin so he brought his numb fingers toward his mouth and breathed as hot of air as his aching lungs would allow. It helped a little but Prussia still refused to remove his wet gloves. Clothing was clothing after all. He'd take anything to keep him remotely warm on the Eastern Front.

Honestly, he wanted to be with Germany. He knew he'd been getting forced back lately, ever since the Allies managed to get a foothold in France's home, but Prussia promised he'd always have his younger brother's back so he had no other choice but to stand and stay to face Russia. He'd been pounding their lines and it was nothing but a tug-of-war between the two of them. Other than that Prussia was exhausted and all he wanted to do was return home, crawl into bed, and sleep for a few decades. But Europe isn't a place to sleep. Never was and he doubted it'd ever be.

Even from the separation Prussia kept in touch with Germany via telecoms. Every day they'd talk and make sure the other was doing alright, but lately the receivers were as quiet as the static buzzing out of them. Prussia was worried. He knew his brother was strong, much stronger than even him, but as the oldest he always worried and no word was ever good in Prussia's battle-worn mind.

The albino jumped when the high pitched crack screeched into the air signaling the telecom was receiving an incoming message. Scurrying over to the device as fast as he could through the high snow, Prussia snatched up the receiver and pressed it close to his ear.

"Ludwig?" Prussia could hear it coming in and out. He calmed the fast pace of his heart when Germany's deep voice echoed across the other end.

"Gilbert," the western country spoke. "I need you to come here."

"Why, what's wrong?" Prussia's heart jumped right back into his throat.

"Just come here," Germany said. "I want to show you something." With that came the silence of static. Germany's words and tone of voice helped ease Prussia's upset conscious a little but Prussia was confused as to why Germany was calling him away from the Front. His men needed him there. What was more important than the protection of Germany's back? Confusing as it was it was an excuse to go and see his brother in the flesh. He doubted he'd pass the opportunity.

He didn't. Prussia gave the command to a faithful General and came as fast as possible to Germany's side. It had taken about a day to arrive. He had been driving up to the designated place near Luxemburg's home when he slammed the breaks at the sound of machine gunfire. Prussia and his entourage jumped out of the vehicle to take cover but after overlaying the land Prussia chuckled to himself at his scare. They were in German territory so it was probably nothing but friendly warm-up rounds. They were close to where Germany was.

But as Prussia assured the humans around that the sound was of their own machines and coaxed them back into the car his heart nearly stopped when the sound died down and a high-pitched, "NO! !" was heard.

Prussia knew that voice. He knew the sound of distress and he knew the outcome if said stress wasn't relieved.

"America!" Prussia gasped before stepping on the gas and ramming his car through the forest's clearing. Skidding to a halt Prussia leapt out of the vehicle and beheld the scene.

There, in the snow, lay dozens of bodies now turning the white surrounding red. It was a massacre.

"You bastard! How could you? !"

Prussia zipped his head around and gapped at the sight of America. He had been captured with the men now dead. They had been his men.

He watched in shock as the American country struggled against Germany's men holding him. Prussia knew it wasn't wise to hold that certain nation down and for good reasons; England could vouch for his thinking.

"Stop!" Prussia cried out in fright as he watched one of Germany's men put a stop to the struggling from the country with a bullet to the shin. America fell to the ground and the men around laughed. "Stop I said!" Prussia shouted as he ran toward them. Prussia made it to them just as Germany bent down and picked up the bleeding American himself.

"Gilbert, glad you could join us. Though, you are a bit late, look what I just so happened to catch." Germany held America up by his arm and showed him off like a prized trout.

In another circumstance Prussia would have pat Germany on the back and gave a, "good job," compliment but not this time. After witnessing the carnage and hearing America's desperate hurt the feeling in his gut churned until he about threw up. That feeling however worsened and now it was up to Prussia to show Germany if he didn't yet feel it.

"What have you done? !" Germany didn't seem to like Prussia's demanding tone as he pulled America closer toward himself and narrowed his eyes at his brother.

"I beat the Americans and in so their country who happened to be with them during the assault," Germany stated.

"You didn't have to slaughter!" Prussia continued his shouts of outrage which only confused and more so upset his little brother.

Prussia's red eyes turned toward America who had just pulled his arm from Germany's grasp and reached to his left toward a close German officer. He was trying to snatch a gun. But to Prussia's surprise again he watched Germany turn at an inhuman speed and shoot America's wrist before he had the chance of securing a weapon. America flinched back and grasped his second wound, grinding his teeth from the pain.

"Ludwig!" Prussia gasped. Since when had his brother ever wished harm on the nation of his affection?

"You'd have him shoot me, or you?" Germany hissed as he pressed close to Prussia who suddenly felt the onslaught of his younger brother's dominating aura.

"But it's Alfred," Prussia reasoned, offering a smile to ease the tense air in-between them.

There it was . . . the soft gaze of Germany when mentioning the nation's name. Prussia wanted Germany to see America as the little Alfred he had met back at the Russian masquerade. That way, maybe he'd remember how much gentle affection he still held despite being on the opposite sides of a war.

But to Prussia's surprise Germany's face was quick to harden again and he simply turned and took hold of the wounded country before pushing him to the ground and ordered his men to hold him down.

"What are you planning to do with him?" Prussia asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion of intent. Observing the look in Germany's eyes as he gazed down at the struggling and cursing American disturbed Prussia. Why? Because he'd seen that look before, not in Germany's eyes, but in other power-hungry countries and it worried the albino.

"I'm going to make sure he never attacks me again," Germany stated without taking a single eye off of America who was being limb stretched by the soldiers' hold on him. When he reached down and unbuckled his belt Prussia nearly choked on his spit from swallowing too hard.

"What are you doing? !" Prussia knew what Germany was attempting but he asked quickly to try to get his brother to think about what he was actually trying to do himself.

"Our Führer said it was the only way to keep him out of the war," Germany informed. "I never wanted him in the war, but because of Japan . . . I just want him out."

"Then find another way!" Prussia begged.

"There isn't," Germany said and looked back down at the struggling American nation who had been stilled when the Germany officer's hit his wounds.

"Ludwig, stop!" Prussia didn't care if Germany wanted this, he did not. As he jumped on his brother and attempted to pull him away from his descent on the American country Germany had turned upon him and landed a hit against his left eye. Prussia was pushed back and dazed and seeing two of everything for a moment before he turned back to his brother. Germany had hit him. He actually hit him.

"This is the last time you get in my way!" Germany shouted and then Prussia saw it, he saw that anger he had once shown him decades back in the American harbor. It was still just as frightening and full of deadly potential.

Without another word Prussia watched in horror as Germany bent down and covered America. He watched America begin to struggle again, demanding Germany get off of him but he could do little with how Germany's men held him by the wrists and ankles. When Germany reached forward and took hold of the blonde's shirt he pulled violently and the buttons attached flew off in every direction, one managing to hit Prussia in the shoulder.

If America hadn't understood Germany's intentions before due to lack of translation, he did now.

"No," Prussia gasped out as he watched America still. His blue eyes widening and pupils dilated in what Prussia recognized as fear.

The horror only continued as Germany's men circled around, offering cheers for their fatherland as he defiled the American nation.

"Stop it . . . stop it!" Prussia demanded as he pushed against the humans toward Germany. There were other ways to get America out of the war. Prussia knew it. Germany knew it. What Germany was doing was the ultimate act of national dominance. Where use of arms and signed restrictions failed this act did not. It was so degrading to a country that said country would never be the same again. They'd surrender their arms, their warriors, their rulers, and their land in submission to this.

Raping a nation was always the last resort.

"Hold him back!" Germany spat as he turned to see his brother trying to break through the soldiers to stop his deed.

"Don't do this, Ludwig! Stop!" Prussia cried out in desperation as he struggled against the soldiers now turned to push and stop his path. He had failed to get his brother to think rationally and he didn't have enough time to explain the reasons why he felt it necessary for Germany not to do this. So he continued pushing aside the humans to break the circle.

"Ludwig, don't!" Prussia had just managed to break through in time to see his powerful brother take hold of America's belt and yank the buckle loose. He saw how America shook, he saw the horror in his eyes and he saw the expected retaliation that Germany had ignored. America lashed back, his injured wrist ignored as he balled his fists and ripped his arm out of the soldier's hold along with the soldier as he was tossed from the clearing and into a truck. Germany's men could hold him down no longer as he swung forward and smashed his fist against Germany's jaw, effectively shattering the joint and heaving the Empire off of him.

"Ludwig!" Prussia cried as he slid to his brother and shoved himself between he and America. "Alfred, Alfred wait!" Prussia held out his hand to stay the boy. America was standing on shaking legs, his belt hung loosely on his pants and his tattered shirt bore his defined chest to the harsh cold air surrounding but it was clear he didn't care for these minor details with the way his fists shook and his eyes glistened.

"We're sorry," Prussia bade, praying some kind of word in the boy's language would get through to his traumatized mind. "_I'm_ sorry. This won't happen again, I promise. You won. You won."

America wasn't moving, he wasn't attacking and so Prussia took the opportunity to order the men back. As they took off Prussia wrapped Germany's arm around his neck and pulled him to his feet while holding his injured jaw together with his other hand. He dragged his stupid brother to his car and laid him in the back seat. He needed medical attention right away and by the looks of it, wouldn't be able to use his jaw for a while. America had broken it immensely.

With a hard sigh Prussia knew this marked a major downward spiral for the Germans. If Germany couldn't communicate properly with his troops then they couldn't advance and there'd be nothing but retreating from here on out. Prussia could try to lead but it was Germany who the troops listened to and now he had nothing more to say.

The sound of the engine muffled Germany's cry of agony from the backseat and as Prussia turned to see what America was currently doing as the Germans pulled out he watched him change. At first he continued to stand on trembling legs with fists a-shaking until Prussia watched his shoulders slack and then came the tears. America began to cry. His head leant back and his eyes closed from the stinging hot tears as he cried and wailed in bitter sadness.

Some of those tears were definitely for the dead men scattered around him in the red snow, but Prussia knew most were for the mentally scarring ordeal Germany had just put him through.

Prussia felt his heart clench at the sight as he was blasted back to the eighteenth century when America had shown him these vulnerable tears. This time Prussia couldn't pull him close and hold him in his arms like the little brother he always had seen him as. He couldn't wipe away those tears with his own fingers or massage those tense trembles away.

War often pushed friends away and enemies closer. But because of this Prussia wondered how far it'd push America away from he and Germany.

Yalta, Crimea. February 4th 1945.

Russia had been feeling extremely pleased with himself lately and for good reasons. His army was only forty miles away from Berlin and he had Prussia on the run. After hearing about Germany's sustained injury at the hands of America, Russia's boss saw to it right away that Russia bombard the Eastern Front until they've pushed them back into their home. It worked and now Russia had given his leader the opportunity to have his way with the meeting of the Big Three once again.

The race of the war was almost finished and Russia was going to be the first to cross that finish line and receive all of the spoils of war.

The last war he had lost more than anything else; his territory, his monarchy, a large number of his people, his health, and his lover. This time he'd walk away with the most.

One of the best feelings besides defeating the German brothers was seeing England squirm. Russia knew his power was failing and it wouldn't be long before the mere thought of him being a threat to Russia's dominancy would prove laughable, but America . . . ever since the American had arrived at Russia's resort he had seen a difference in him. Blaming the war at first Russia dismissed it until Russia also saw something devious in his leader.

He didn't know what it was but from the looks of it, Russia could see that America's leader was even threatening England's rule and therefore butting heads with Russia's leadership. This was something completely different since Tehran. Russia could blame it on the sickly and delusional leadership, but he suspected something else. No nation threatened unless they were backing their words and Russia was curious as to what Mr. Roosevelt was backing his words with.

Nevertheless America had resigned himself from his leader's side and opted to his room as a retreat for their stay in Yalta. Russia had been on his way to receive the youngest nation of the three as order by his leader when he had halted his arrival at the sound of someone else in America's room.

It was England.

"You sure you're alright, lad? You haven't spoken much since you got here."

"Not required to speak. Just here to represent." America sounded tired and Russia inwardly chuckled to himself. If he recalled the last war the nation had entered near the end, but this time he had gotten a few years in on the war and now he was seeing just how damaging it could be to a country. It served his inexperienced self right.

"But you seemed upset by Stalin," England mentioned and Russia's ears keened. That was right. He remembered America leaving the room when Stalin began boasting on their imminent approach to Berlin and Russia's over all victory in the war. "Don't you mind him. He likes to play his own drums."

There was silence for a moment.

"If it makes you feel any better I personally acknowledge your accomplishments, America. I know what you did to halt the western advance," England said.

"Yeah, yeah." Russia could tell that America hadn't wanted to continue speaking as if just uttering words would exhaust him. Something completely different than his usually chatty self.

"How are you holding up after that entire ordeal?" England asked and Russia heard his pitch drop and his tone became more of a gentle concerning parent than a boasting comrade in arms.

"I'm fine," came America's quick reply.

"You're certain?"

England was always one to press even when it got past the amount of annoyance one could maintain.

"It was wrong what he did . . . what he tried to do," England continued and Russia often wondered if the Empire was talking about America's run-in with Germany. He had heard about the attack and its repulsion but other than that the details escaped him. From what he was hearing it sounded like Germany had done something to America that the boy refused to mention or let England reminisce on for that matter.

"War is war. Shit happens on and off the battlefield; there is really no rules during it. You of all people should know, England, so why do you care what the hell happened to me?"

There was a silence and Russia wondered if the American had actually managed to shut the Brit up.

"Besides . . . it's not like it hadn't happened to me before . . ."

The words died in a mumble and that was that. The conversation seemed to end so Russia found it his chance to enter. He offered a gentle knock before opening the door to see England standing near America who had been lying on his bed with his arm covering his eyes.

"Oh, forgive me. I didn't know you two were having a moment. It seems it is gone, da? Good. My leader requires your presence. He persists you stand next to your leaders for the photograph."

"Right-o then," England said, straightening out his jacket and heightening his form. "Then I'll leave America to wash up."

England left and possibly expected Russia to follow, but the older nation didn't. Instead he remained in America's doorway and watched him closely. He wasn't moving at first and when he raised his arm a curious blue eye stared back at him.

"A picture lasts longer you know," America said which made the Russian chuckle.

"Stalin does not like to be kept waiting," Russia informed.

"You're the strangest host," America complained, letting his arm fall back over his eyes. "Making such demands on the guests is so rude."

"My territory, my rules," Russia announced and watched with his trademark smile as America took hold of the bedframe with both hands and sat himself up. He seemed sore as he groaned whilst sitting up but when the frame crunched under the pressure from his hands America found himself falling along with the furniture.

Russia's eyes widened and gasped as he jumped forward and bent down to help the American up.

"Sorry, man," America offered as Russia pulled him to his feet. America looked down at his hands in concern before wiggling his fingers and then massaging his palms carefully. "Don't know what came over me."

Russia had known America as one of the few nations to be blessed with abnormal strength, but after what he just witnessed he grew concerned. When had America become so out of touch with his inhuman ability? It wasn't like him to break things anymore. Something was off and Russia knew it.

"I hope you expect to pay for that," Russia said and when America turned to him with disbelief he chuckled. "I am joking. It was an accident, da? I was here to witness it."

America nodded before glancing down. Russia had seen this vulnerability and so pressed on it.

"What is wrong, Amerika? You look quite upset." And he did, which is one of the reasons why Russia asked. Despite Stalin's attitude toward America, Russia still held a care for him and seeing him frown did not give him the pleasure his leader had wished it would. "We are friends, da? You can tell me."

The mere mention of the word "friend" seemed to upset the American as his frown deepened and his eyes darkened in his glare up at the Russian.

"For now," America said as he turned from the older nation and opened his wardrobe and pulled out his ceremony uniform.

With his back turned America didn't see Russia frown in dismay over his response. His heart threatened to burst out of his chest again and so he quietly excused himself. He should have taken America's response as an insult, Stalin would have wanted him to, but in the end Russia found himself with the familiar emotion of hurt sadness over the fact that America began to see him as an enemy.

They could have been such good friends, well, if America accepted his ways of social Communism. If he did then they could possibly be lovers again. Russia had liked that very much and he was certain America would too, but America was too stubborn and refused any sway from the way of life. No, he simply stood tall and proud behind his leader as they took the photograph commemorating that the Big Three leaders were there and the day became historical.

Russia and America's smiles were obviously fake and their forms were too unevenly apart, America having shifted closer to England on his left than stand so close to Russia on his right. Russia didn't like that his presence pushed America back into that ugly Brit's arms. The past centuries it had always been the other way around but now Russia was finding it was him and him alone that was forcing the creation of a bond between the British country and the American nation. Russia didn't like that at all and so he blew his frustration through the form of fighting the Germans to demolish their capital.

Berlin, Germany. Summer of 1945

Prussia let out a cry as his arm was pulled back to the point where he could physically feel his joints crunching together. Anymore pressure and his arm might come right off, but he didn't care about the pain right now. All he cared about was the safety of his brother.

"America!" The nation standing near Prussia's younger brother turned his eyes to him and looked at him. His attention held for the moment. "Please, please take care of him!" Prussia pleaded out as he blinked away the stinging in his eyes to his best ability. "Please!"

They had lost. He and Germany had fought hard and lost. The war was over. The sequel to the Great War came and went. Well, at least for them.

Prussia knew Japan still had his holdings in the pacific but he knew it wouldn't be long before he too caved, especially under America. There was something different about him now. His eyes seemed slightly darker, he stood taller than when Prussia had last seen him, and his aura . . . Prussia could feel it radiating off of him from where he stood and he had no doubts that those who stood closest to him could feel it in full. Prussia hadn't felt such a powerful dominating national aura like that in at least two millennia. It felt a lot like _his _aura and it was daunting to think that such a young nation had gained it so quickly.

America had the aura of a powerful empire despite his decline to the title. He'd become a Superpower.

Prussia let out another hiss as his arm was pulled back again, pulling him back into reality. He looked back at the smiling nation looming over him. Such a menace he was and always will be. But he was thankful that he had picked Prussia instead of Germany to take.

"Ah!" With a boot between his shoulders Prussia's face met the ruble of Berlin. Russia still held his arm in his vice-like grip and so the strain on his shoulder worsened. But that still didn't stop him from pleading to the others to look after his broken brother.

Prussia remembered how sick Germany had gotten after the first Great War and he never wanted to see him like that again. He glared at France and England especially, those two had been the largest contributors in Germany's sickness, but when his eyes turned back toward America his gaze softened. He saw the young nation as his last hope.

"Alfred!" There he went again, using the boy's name as if he were a close friend allowed such luxuries. It worked, America's eyes lightened a little and his almost uncaring glare became gentle to the sensitive situation facing the two German brothers. "Please, Alfred, watch over mein bruder. Watch over Ludwig."

When Germany looked at him, Prussia's heart broke into pieces. He saw those wet tears in those sad blue eyes. He saw just how heartbroken Germany was as well, especially because he couldn't offer a formal verbal goodbye. The gauze wrapped around his jaw and head showed the others that any attempt of speaking had been taken from him.

Prussia decided to forget about regret and pain as he pulled away from Russia, breaking his wrist and dislocating his arm in the process. The action surprised everyone and Prussia could see England pull out his gun as Prussia ran toward them, but he wasn't planning on a final attack. No, he merely slid to his knees and wrapped his still functioning arm around his brother and pulled him close.

"Iche lieb dich, Ludwig," Prussia declared as he cried and held his brother one last time. He choked out a sob when he felt Germany cling to him like he was his last life line. He could feel Germany's wet hot tears dripping down his neck and mixing with the grime covering him. He felt him shaking and knew that he was hurting from not being able to speak to him one last time.

What a pathetic state the Awesome Prussia's found himself in. He could see all of their eyes on him, but he didn't want their pity. He wanted them to save it for Germany.

The sound of heavy footsteps rung in Prussia's ears when he felt someone grip his broken arm and pull. He gritted his teeth from the pain but nothing and he meant nothing could or had ever felt so bad as the moment he was ripped from Germany's arms.

"Ludwig!" Prussia cried out, his good arm reaching out and taking a hold of the blonde's jacket before he had been violently ripped away. "Gott, Ludwig!"

The butt of a gun met Prussia's scalp and he had fallen. The daze became overwhelming and the last sight he saw was that of his brother's horrified face.

"Germans; they never listen," Russia stated lightly like it was some kind of a joke. No one laughed though. When Russia looked down at Germany his gaze became more menacing. "Especially this one." Russia raised his gun to offer a club to his head as well but America dared to step between them. With a frown Russia sneered at the action. "You always were a German lover, shlyukha."

America only stood his ground and bumped his chest with Russia, something he's never before done. Such a gesture could start a war.

"He's mine, Russia," America stated before taking up his own gun and surprising the powerful Communist by shooting the ground near his foot. Russia wasn't one to retreat but from the situation he took a step back as America emptied his cartridge with a lovely line of bullets in the dusty debris ridden ground. "You cross this line and I will not hesitate to fight you," America swore as he once again met Russia's gaze.

Sweet and innocent America was no more. It was a little sad but also somewhat exciting. Russia found himself grinning at the boy's display of power. He had never been one to push might around as much as this. Russia was quite curious when this change happened. Well, if America was wanting to play . . .

Russia held back a chuckle but not his smile as he leaned over the set line and pressed his face close to America's. The western nation did not move, Russia did not cross the line per say so he had no right to strike back. How fun to see America thinking he could challenge the great Russia.

"You don't think I can feel it, _Fredka_?" Russia teased the boy with the silly nickname if only to see that frown deepen. His eyes glanced back and forth to England, France, and the other countries there. "I know they can but it is impolite to ask. So I will find your secret, Amerika, and when I do then maybe you could come and live with me for a little while, da?"

Russia was impressed to see America's eyes darken at the dominating threat and that aura he felt emit from him since they had met last heightened. It was intoxicating and it surged with dominance. But so did Russia and he wouldn't stop until the whole world was his and if America decided to stand in the way like the stupid little boy he'd been known as throughout history then Russia had no choice but to discipline the rude country and he's saved a special kind of punishment for him. A punishment befitting of a betrayer like him.

Gone were the days when Russia longed only to see America smile and hear him laugh. His heart might still long for such pleasantries but in time he'd forget, so in the meantime Russia would ignore his aching heart and chase after it every time it fell out of his chest, attempting to escape into Alfred's arms. That had almost happened one time and Russia had caught it just in time.

So, bending down, Russia took up the unconscious Prussia before turning east.

"It was fun playing war with you, Amerika," Russia said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Sadly I missed the opportunity to do it last time. Remember I am here if you are too weak to handle Japan. I should hope you let me fight him, after all I have an old score to settle."

Turning back toward America and the others, Russia offered his trademark smile. America was unfazed and stood his ground despite the other countries unease. What a resilient boy.

Russia made sure to keep his eyes on him closely from now on. He's become something akin to an empire, a Superpower so to say, and Russia was going to find out how it happened and he was going to make sure to find a way to staunch his growth. After all, little chicks shouldn't be hopping out of the nest before their wings were fully developed. If Russia had to then he'd push America. He was curious if he could fly.

Tokyo, Japan. Autumn of 1945

America had walked Japan beside the desolated ruble for the sole purpose to try to make him understand that what had happened was brought about by his lack of surrender, but no matter what the dissolved Empire remained proud and wouldn't even look at the destroyed cities. He blamed America, as did the rest of the world. After all it was he who had dropped the bombs.

So Japan was placed upon house arrest and he spoke no more. America didn't necessarily want to be stationed on the island, he wanted to go home and rest, but he knew that was now an impossibility. England's Empire was on the brink of crumbling—America gave it a few more years until it wore its welcome—Germany was being divided between the allies; his schedule now consisting of triple custody, America had new territories to manage and now he's come out of the war with a title others, by right, had a chance to fight for.

They were calling him a Superpower. England had told him that the title was usually given to the strongest country in the world. Now, after his attack on Japan's home, the title was given to him.

The strongest nation in the world. In the world.

America had a lot on his plate and so the mere thought of falling on his bed back home and closing his eyes became a simple fantasy. He doubted he'd ever get to some good rest in a long while thanks to his current status, but it was too late to revoke it. He definitely wasn't giving it up without a fight.

It was still almost surreal . . . being the strongest, some even equating him to the Roman Empire of old. America never knew the guy, but one thing was for certain was that he would never let the title and status get to him. He was not an Empire, didn't want to be. But despite his reassurance the world still looked at him with the possibility of that fear. England looked at him with immature pity while France in envy. China's eyes glew green with jealousy when he saw him and Russia . . .

America could tell that if anyone were to challenge him for his title then it would be Russia. It was funny because only a hundred years ago Russia had competed for such a title with England and America had supported Russia by giving him ships and arms. Now look . . . the game's changed and it is America whose back Russia is watching and waiting for the most opportune moment to stab.

America wasn't even two hundred years old yet and already it seems like he's bitten off more than he can chew. Perhaps, perhaps not. He'd show the world he was worthy and he'd show Russia.

"Agh!" Australia's cry shot America out of his dreadful thoughts. He keened his ears curious as to what the younger sibling had gotten himself into this time, but after hearing, "Get 'im off me!" America bolted out of his designated office located close to Japan's main home. Upon racing outside America saw the crowd forming and his men struggling to get the assailant off of Australia who was on the ground trying to prevent a knife from getting shoved into his throat.

Without a word America raced toward the scene and broke through the crowd before taking a hold of the cloaked attacker and throwing them off of his brother. The person hit the side of a building and America frowned at the force of the action. The attacker might be dead from the impact all because America hadn't properly handled his newly acquired strength. He had always had unnatural strength for a nation so young but this was something else even for America.

He had even yanked Australia to his feet quicker than expected and the poor boy's feet left the ground before America realized it and set him down.

"What happened?" America asked, reaching out and touching the cuts on Australia's neck, one was quite deep but none life threatening.

"He snuck out of Japan's place," Australia explained as he looked toward where the attacker had fallen. "I thought it was Japan at first trying to escape but then they attacked me, thought I was dad. Japan don't make those identity mistakes."

No, he does not. Japan knew his countries. So America turned and approached the assailant that his men had surrounded. By the sound of heavy breathing the person had survived. Whoever they were was going on trial. No one hurt America's little brother and got away with it. Not Japan and certainly not this person. Once their cloak was ripped off America gapped. His blue eyes wide in disbelief.

It was a woman.

She had survived the impact though not without sustaining injury. Her shoulder was hurt by the way she was holding it. Of course the fact that she was a woman and had survived the hard slamming toss wasn't what surprised America the most.

"What's your name?" America asked as he examined the long-haired beauty before him. Her brown eyes looked at him and held his gaze for a moment before America knew for sure.

"Seondeok Im."

"That's not a regular Japanese name," Australia noted from where he stood behind America along with the rest of the Marines.

"That's because it's not a Japanese name," America said as he leaned down and settled on his haunches, patiently waiting for the woman. "What's your real name?"

She looked reluctant and untrusting before she let her gaze fall in defeat. "Korea," she announced.

"She's a country?" Australia asked with wide eyes.

"If you'd stop and take her in then you'd realize she's no mere human," America said like a mentor informing his student to Australia who apparently had yet to master the national sense to aura emitting. "What are you doing here?" America's attitude shifted from hostile to compassionate.

"I ask myself that every day," Korea said as she glanced down in a shameful way. "Then when Japan was weak enough I tried to flee . . . well, until the white men enslave me too."

America frowned. "I'm not here to enslave anyone."

"That is always their excuse in the beginning," Korea stated, looking at America with stern eyes.

With a sigh America stood himself up and rubbed the tense muscles on his neck. Pacing around a bit he didn't seemed fazed at all by the woman's hard glare.

"Attacking my brother is a serious crime, just so you know," America spoke as he continued his pace with the raven-haired woman watching.

"Then what are you going to do with me?" Korea asked as she narrowed her eyes with distrust. "Throw me away to rot in a cellar or am I to warm your bed like Japan's?"

Despite her revealing her reason for being in Japan's home America offered no frown during the revelation. Instead he stopped and turned to her fully with a smile on his face.

"He thought you were Japan, you thought he was someone else; clearly a case of mistaken identity on both parts so there's really only one thing to do."

Korea blinked in surprise as a hand was offered to her. She looked at the appendage like it was something alien to her which made the men around wonder just how she had been treated by Japan. As she looked up toward America that smile of his coaxed her into believing she could trust him for the time being and so she slowly reached out and took his hand. This time America made sure to keep his heightened strength in check as he gently pulled her to her feet.

"I can only see returning you home as the best punishment for the situation," America said in a light manner. She gapped at him and took in his form. It was like she had not received such kindness in her life which America's heart went out to. When she finally offered a small smile in return she flinched and groaned in pain. It was her shoulder. "Ah, but first, let's get you to the infirmary," America offered as he personally escorted the woman toward the med bay.

Seoul, Korea. Winter of 1945

Russia stood at the docks in surprise. There was an American ship depositing something he'd been looking for since Japan's surrender. America himself was there, holding the hand of a delicate small woman who was careful not to slip off of the ramp as they walked down onto the dock.

"Privet, Amerika," Russia offered and noticed how that gentle smile saved for the lady had vanished into a frown upon notice of the Russian country. "It looks like you've found what was missing."

"Japan had taken her for . . . reasons," America said before he let go of the woman's hand now that she got her standing right.

Russia said nothing. He examined the woman. She looked young, but he could tell she was older than she seemed. No doubt she was around the same age as Japan if not a little older. She kept her figure well, but as for her might—why, Russia often wondered how these ancient Asian countries managed to survive for so long.

"Gamsahabnida, America-ssi," Korea thanked, offering a genuine smile to America who inclined his head in kind.

"Well, now that my job has been made easier, you would excuse us, Amerika," Russia said as he reached out and took the female country by the arm to press the time. "We have a few things to discuss."

America looked reluctant to let her go but he really had no choice.

"You can go back to punishing Japan," Russia said, trying to bid the boy off. America frowned but then took off his jacket and placed it upon Korea's shoulders to shield her from the cold wind of the winter. "Here," he said softly. "Keep warm."

When he turned to leave and his shoes clacked against the ramp up to his ship Korea had taken a step forward. "America!" The younger nation stopped and turned to look at her, completely ignoring the Russian's presence much to Russia's annoyance. "Will I see you sometime soon?"

With a fun smile America crossed his arms and leaned against the ramp's railing. "I'm a busy man, Seondeok. I'll have to check my schedule."

"As long as you spare a few days out of the year for this shameful woman's time, then I'd be content," Korea said with a sweet smile and bright eyes reserved for the young and strong American.

America chuckled but his eyes softened and his smile broadened. "Just name the number and I'll spend that amount with you."

Korea beamed at the western nation before he offered a salute to depart his presence. When Russia's voice resounded Korea hadn't even realized she had been trapped in thoughts of the blond nation.

"You two seem quite close, I find myself jealous."

Korea turned to see Russia, his smile in place and his stance tall. She offered a bow before she said, "You must be the Soviet Union. I offer my greetings."

"I had feared you perished," Russia said though now after seeing her with America he felt that he wished it had been the case.

"As you can see I am alive and well. After Japan had enslaved me and forced my young men to join his war I had thought of myself as nothing but a broken little girl, but America . . . he said there was a chance for repair. I hope to work close to you western nations to prove him right."

"Da," Russia said with a nod. "But just so we clarify things . . ." Reaching up Russia ripped America's jacket from Korea's shoulders and tossed it to the ground to gather dirt and ice. "When you are with me you won't even mention that country unless I ask you. Second, I am not working for your benefit, you are working for mine. If I see any resistance I won't think twice to stamp it out. And if you don't like my demands then, well . . . there are other ways of persuasion." Russia's gloved fingers brushed the woman's cheek before falling down her neck dangerously close to her breasts. She flinched back and nodded her head.

"I understand," she quickly replied.

"Good, I'm so glad we could see eye-to-eye," Russia said with that smile of his.

"Is there anything else you wish to know of me?" Korea asked, her gaze down and her shoulders tense when in front of Russia whom she now realized was another dominating power not too different than Japan.

"Da," Russia said as he pressed her face upward so she would look at him. "Tell me about your time with Amerika. I want to hear every little detail."

* * *

**Daughter Of The Revolution: So sorry for not getting this out sooner but WWII has so much crap in it I couldn't pick what to write about. I could probably write 9 chaps from all the stuff that happened, but decided not to. I'm trying to trudge along, not drag on so there was the WWII chapter. Like it, hate it, whatever. It was a pain to write. Moving on~**

**History Time!**

**Yep, Stalin pretty much owned negotiations in the Tehran and Yalta meetings and poor Roosevelt and Churchill were like, "Shit!"**

**December 16th 1944 through January 25th 1945 was known as the Battle of the Bulge and it was pretty much the German's last assault. They gave a good run but in the end failed. It also happened to be the United States' bloodiest battle in the war because they were the majority of the armies attacked. Also in this battle came the Malmedy Massacre. SS German soldiers opened fired on American prisoners and killed a majority of them. Gotta love the war crimes, and that throughly pissed the Americans off which actually resulted in them doing something similar. So, yes, I equivaleted that to attempted rape because it suuure seemed like that to me.**

**Germany formally surrendered May 7th 1945 and was split up between America, England, France, and the Soviets. Thus the separation of Prussia and Germany. Sad :(**

**Japan formally surrendered September 2nd 1945.**

**The United States became an official Superpower after dropping two atomic bombs on Japan and getting the Soviet Union's attention (Cold War here we come!). Supremacy issues, gotta love it.**

**Australia and America became super tight during this time partly because Australia needed someone to defend it from the threat of Japan. Call in the U.S.! The Australian Government, lacking confidence in Australia's capability to defend itself, had expressed its willingness to accept a supreme commander in the south-west Pacific - initially - from either Great Britain or the United States. In the end they chose America's General Douglas MacArthur. Sooo, America's Navy headquarters actually was at Brisbane, Australia for a while during the war and there were thousands if not close to a million U.S. troops stationed there. Even after the war Australia and America remained really close through the ANZUS Treaty (Australia, New Zealand, and the United States) though due to New Zealand being "meh :/" with America the treaties are more like "AUS" and "ANZ" than all three together. And, The United States is the only country to have served alongside Australia in every major conflict since World War II. Yup, brotherly love.**

**And I based Korea in here after the female version originally designed for the country just in case you're wanting to know what she looked like. She was in Japan's house as . . . well . . . a sex slave. The Japanese took thousands of Korean women for this "comfort" as well as inducted thousands of Korean men into the Japanese army. I also named her after her first reigning female monarchy in case you're curious.**

**And! Korea was split mostly between the Soviet Union and the United States.**


	12. America's Number Two (Love Game, Part 1)

**Daughter Of The Revolution:**** I have no other excuse for not updating besides being lazy and reading too many fanfics . . . so sorry for the month-late update but if it makes you guys feel any better I had been writing this for weeks in ma notebook. It seems the skips weren't written in any particular order so I have parts of the next chapter written down too. Soooo, that means I should be getting the next chapter out sooner. Sorries, again.**

**Warnings!**

**Racial slurs (because back then everyone was racist :D also, war made people particularly racist)**

**Love-struck opinions (ei, these love-struck nation opinions are impaired while wearing rose-colored glasses and frolicking through flower fields, so their feelings aren't necessarily how they feel today)**

**Insensitivity**

**Dark Thoughts (ei, murderous, lustful, greedy, etc)**

**Het Pairings**

**Drama~**

* * *

Pyongyang, Korea. 1947

Russia narrowed his eyes at the Asian. She had done it again and caught herself a little too late. When Russia inquired on America's doings he wanted the number of ships in her harbor, the number of soldiers occupying her towns and cities, time of visits from the delegates, etc. He did not need the details of America's moods or the sweet nothings he says to Korea, nor of their walks along her beaches, of the gifts he presents her and she him. Russia didn't want her to tell him these things because he didn't like them. America was not hers to take and to hold and, all business aside, Russia felt the need to strangle that small neck of hers. He doubted it'd take long before the bones snapped from how tightly he'd press if he ever was allowed to wrap his straining hands around her.

Russia refrained from the physical violence. If his boss found out that he did something like what his imagination craved for then it'd be back to the Kremlin with him, seated alone in a cold dark room where they'd ask him numerous questions until he caved under their scrutinizing gazes and told them the truth. Stalin would torture Russia if he found out about his feelings for America. That torture likely consisting of forcing Russia to declare war against the Western nation.

"Ah, forgive me, Soviet Union. I have been caught rambling again," Korea apologized with a bow of her head.

Russia smiled and set his pen and paper down since Korea felt the need to say things Russia dubbed not record worthy ten so would Russia.

"You and Amerika must be close since you seem to not be able to keep from speaking about endearing events the two of you have shared. Tell me, have you finally moved on from Japan and became his whore instead?"

Russia's smile was in place and held despite his need to frown. Korea on the other hand looked away politely and kept her head bowed in submission.

"Once again, I ask for your forgiveness," she said. "I promise you not to speak of him in such a carefree manner again."

"You've made that promise before," Russia reminded. "I suppose it is only natural for a wench to revert back to her old ways."

"Please, he does not treat me like that. He respects me and I respect him."

"And yet where is my respect?" Russia asked, crossing his arms. "I offer you safe visitation in return for detail on the Americans, yet you bout useless information to me. Should I now command you stay away from the nation?" Russia was tempted to see if his orders transcended boundaries. To his surprise Korea looked up at him with hard brown eyes.

"With all due respect, Russia, you have no say on what I do when I'm with him," she said. Russia figured she deserved applause for her bravery but he didn't offer it.

"Da, but I'm sure Amerika is a busy nation. You cannot be so selfish as to take up his time," Russia added with another awfully fake smile.

"He makes time for me," Korea replied. "I know he is busy and so I do not press it. What little time we are granted I view as a gift. His words, his smiles . . . he makes me happy. And I have not been such in so long."

There it was again . . . trailing off into a field of roses. It made Russia sick and the frown forced his smile down.

"You can't hope to make him happy, woman," Russia stated. He hoped to hide his disapproving tone but it slipped out with a few words. "You can't offer a thing to him that he doesn't already have." It was true. The world has dubbed America the power and with that everything and anything would be given to him on golden platters.

"I offer him love," Korea defended. Her hand patting over her heart. In her bold statement she suddenly slackened and her eyes became clouded with a far-off sadness. "I doubt you know nor care, but he's a very lonely man, so what I can give him he takes and cherishes because no one else is willing to give it."

The silence enveloping them afterwards was a mistake on Russia's part. He should have come back with a retort or at least told her to shut her mouth. But he was silent and let her win because she had given him a detail about America he hadn't known. The boy was lonely? After the war he made plenty of friends, and enemies at that. Lonely? You don't offer love to the lonely. You offer companionship and friendship. Love? Why would America appreciate Korea's love? Did she feel she knew how to give it? A whore like her was undeserving of America's attention and yet from what Korea had told him, he visited her and took the time to grow close to her. Why her?

America was a stupid boy who'd place his heart in anyone's hands as long as they were tender. If he wasn't careful then he'd end up broken like back in . . . 1919 . . . when . . . he was eternally stupid and if Russia had to show that to him to make him see then he would.

Quietly, Russia dismissed Korea though when she left he knew he was sending her into the arms of . . . no, she couldn't, America needed to be held in powerful muscular arms not her frail weak limbs. She wasn't right for him and she could not have him.

Russia simply wouldn't allow it.

Moscow, Russia. August 15th 1948

Russia's first reaction was to laugh at it. The letter was like the funniest joke he's ever read. But after so long his laughter died and a deep disapproving frown appeared as he crumpled the parchment and tossed it to the ground. His boss had caught sight of his fit and rose a brow.

"What was on that letter?" Stalin asked, well, demanded. He never put up with Russia's behavior.

Russia was reluctant to reply but had no other choice. "Amerika has invited me to view his new child."

"Child?" Stalin's eyes were now aglow with the possibility of new territory.

"Da," Russia said with a nod through his clenched teeth. "He and Korea have produced offspring together."

"Go then," Stalin ordered.

"You want me to see American territory?" Russia asked. He refused to go and offer his congratulations.

"Da," Stalin insisted. "I may want the child."

Well Russia didn't. It was Korean and that was enough to disgust him. But his boss ordered him and he had no power to say nyet.

That bitch.

Seoul, Korea. Late August 1948

It was hideous, just as Russia thought. The hair was too dark, the skin too yellow, and its eyes were the ugliest brown he's ever seen. No, the child should have inherited locks of gold and eyes like the brightest December topazes. That was beauty. This, what he was looking at, was not.

"He looks so much like Seondeok," came America's voice throughout the room as he entertained his guests at the showing. "He really is a pretty thing, just like his mother."

"How is she, Al?" Canada spoke up in question.

Russia could care less about their conversation and so he kept his attention on the child in the cradle. Reaching out he touched the little one's hand and upon contact the child moved away from him as if he knew Russia was dangerous.

"The birth was hard on her," America explained, his tone full of worry for that woman. "She's bedridden right now but she's still able to nurse Yong Soo."

"Yong Soo; that's a nice name," Canada complimented.

"I let her name him," America admitted. "Since he was born in her land and shares so many traits with her I felt it appropriate."

"Of course. God only knows what you'd have named him," England perked up.

"Hey!" America whined. "I'll have you know I would have named him something cool. Even so, Seondeok came up with an awesome name too. She told me it means brave and great. Isn't that super?"

"Right," England groaned.

Once again Yong Soo pulled his hands away from Russia's fingers. After having to do this so many times the little boy grew teary eyed and opened his toothless mouth to cry in distress. All turned toward Russia at the sound of the cries. He didn't need to turn around to know they were all glaring at him.

"Man, sorry," America said as he maneuvered around Russia and picked up the crying baby. "He's still not used to all the new faces."

Despite what the child was wearing the thing was quite big for a child born a mere week ago. The size of the child meant health and stability as well as the possibility for strength. Russia simply saw it as the one trait it inherited from its father. Russia had a feeling it would become a nation, but a nation of what? There was no new land and even if there was it would be claimed and absorbed into another country so the child's appearance in the world was baffling. It wasn't common for a nation to be born of two parent countries. It has happened before, yes, but not in a long time.

"You know what? He's probably hungry," America realized after his rocking proved useless in easing the child to stop crying. So, with a quick turn he excused himself for a moment and made his way down the hall, no doubt to hand the child to the mother.

"So, what do ya think of the little bloke?" Australia asked. "He's a cute li'l joey he is."

"He is," Canada agreed with a nod.

"Hmph, he's a disgrace to the Easterners," China spoke up.

America certainly was excited to show the child off if he invited nations he currently had tensions with. Those countries being Russia and China. But the others reasoned that America had just been honoring their partnership in WWII. No other excuse was valid as to why the two were there otherwise.

"Yeah? Well I think you're just jealous, China," England said in that cocky tone of his. "His birth just proves that the East can meet the West."

China huffed until he became so upset that he excused himself from the gathering and left without saying goodbye to the host. The others could care less. His presence had become increasingly annoying, especially with their failing interests in the East.

"Hey, guys, sorry about the wait," came America, jogging back into the lounge room. "Oh . . . where's China?"

"He left," England stated blandly. "You know him these days."

America looked disappointed at the departure but he was quick to pull out his bright smile again and say, "Well, you guys are still here. What more can I ask for?"

"Actually, I am thinking about taking China's lead and leaving myself," Russia added as he stood from his seat in preparation to leave.

"But you just got here," America complained and that complaint alone blasted Russia back to 1867 where America had too been reluctant to see Russia leave and as persuasion threw his arms around him and pressed sweet lips against his own. Russia doubted the nation would initiate such ways today.

"Let him go," England said, showing a frown toward Russia who simply smiled back. "Can't expect damn Communists to hold an event."

Russia would have frowned at the rude comment had he not been used to them by now. He learned to hide his menace through innocent smiles; in situations like this. He had come to see the child like America and his boss had wanted, now he had nothing more keeping him there save for America, but Russia doubted the country wished to entertain him in private.

It was interesting how America's features changed at the mention of Russia's social system. The blonde's eyes turned away from him and a frown vanquished his smile.

"Yeah, you're right," America muttered in agreement with England's statement.

There was no need to play their petty games and bite back a retort. It would prove to be a waste of breath for Russia. So, without another word he just left. He doubted America would ever invite him to another gathering again, but Russia knew he'd see the boy again very soon.

Siberian Wilderness, Russia. August 29th 1949

Russia wasn't fond of traveling deep into the wilderness so early in the morning but he knew better than to overstep his boss. That man didn't give a damn if Russia was larger, older, or near immortal. The man could do things to the country without even touching him and after proving his point through his purges, Russia swore never again to question the man.

"Do you know why I've brought you here, Russia?" Stalin asked as the two stood on a tall outpost while trooper trucks drove around underneath and soldiers marched back and forth in formation of the drill.

"I am certain I will find out soon," Russia answered with that smile of his. A smile used to fake out his commissaries, as well as his leader.

"Da," Stalin assured with a nod, looking out into the desolate land with expectant pride swelling inside him. "As of this day we will no longer live in fear of a war with the United States of Amerika we cannot win."

Russia rose his brow in confusion and became more than a little leery from the look on his boss's face.

"If I wish to invade that place then I can do so while staring their ignorant leader in the eyes. Matching him twitch for tap," Stalin looked toward Russia and continued, "Today you will be given the title of Superpower."

Russia's curiosity was struck. Even his boss kept secrets from him, but if he had been working on a project without Russia's knowing . . . Before Russia had the chance to offer a question a bright light flashed throughout the land. Russia was blinded for a moment. Upon blinking the stars away from his vision the sight of something seen before only in television erupted before him. With wide eyes Russia felt the rumble and watched the cloud drift up into the atmosphere, shaping just like a mushroom. His bones shook from the aftershocks of the explosion and Russia felt his heart race and his smile broaden darkly.

He had it. He finally had the ultimate weapon. The atomic bomb.

The power was intoxicating as it raced within him. His grip on the metal railing of the post tightened and tightened until it snapped and caved under his strength. Looking down at the ruined railing and then toward Stalin for silent permission. The man nodded and gave Russia leave to do whatever he wanted to test his newly acquired ability. Turning, Russia made his way toward the metal door behind them and plunged his fingers through the material of it before gripping it and ripping it off of the bolted hinges. He then turned and proceeded to toss it as far as he possibly could and the distance astounded him.

Looking down at his hands Russia curled them into fists before unfolding his fingers. They felt tingly and slightly numb, as if he hadn't felt the pressure of the door at all. Russia could had done that before; picked up a door and tossed it, but not as far and as quickly as he had just now. The surge of the power coursing through him left him in a high and his head spun with visions of world conquest, of the world underneath him, of America . . .

"How does it feel, Russia?" Stalin asked, calling Russia out of his dazing daydream.

"Overwhelming, but in a good way," Russia replied as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes to the feel of his body strengthening from the transformation.

"How—" When Russia finally looked back at his leader he had to ask, "How did you—?"

"The Americans are too trusting," Stalin explained. "While they lay drunk with power those loyal to you had learned the formula and now Amerika's secret is a secret no more. You now have the power to fight him, to destroy him."

Russia smiled for Stalin because it was what he wanted to see but inwardly he frowned. No matter if Stalin was his leader, his boss, his current god; he would not command him to destroy his promised mate. Russia's arms were meant to take America into his embrace and hold him there until the end of time, not break his body in two. He knew his boss was smart and that he knew a war was not in the best interest for the both of their countries, but if he ever suggested the idea be put to action, well, then Russia would put himself to action as well.

Stalin made him strong. Strong enough to kill him if the human dared threaten his priceless belonging. The fear was gone because of the power. Russia would not tell him, but he'd let him continue to assume he still had him under his control until old age either took him or . . . something else.

So he'd just keep smiling until he was free of this man and another was put in place, one Russia could easily manipulate. Stalin was too witty and saw vastly into the future, or so most assumed, but Russia doubted his successor would and that was what Russia was hoping for.

Pyongyang, Korea. 1949

Russia knew it. The child was not meant to be born.

There Korea sat before him. She looked pale and the dark circles underneath her eyes gave proof that she was quite ill.

"Forgive me," she said once again, trying to straighten her posture but failing to stay sitting upright for too long. "I have not been well lately."

"Since that móguǐ was born." China took the words right out of Russia's mouth. With a smile Russia leaned back in his chair and decided to let the Asian countries settle the upset between themselves. Korea looked appalled by China's hate for her son and despite her fragile condition she steeled herself to the Ancient.

"Don't speak about my son like that," Korea demanded. "He was born in my land and so has rights to his Asian heritage."

"A half-blood never can," China insisted as he inhaled the essences smoking out of his pipe. "I would have you rather born Japan a bastard."

"I am happy to have born Yong Soo to America," Korea said despite China's disgusted facial expressions.

Russia was impressed at her boldness but he assumed it to be brought on from a mother's pride; a strong force to reckon with.

"America has been nothing but kind to me and he loves our son," Korea assured with a confident smile that gave Russia a bad taste in his mouth.

"What happens when you vanish?" China asked. "I'm sure he's waiting for that. After you're gone your dear son will remember you no more. America will wipe everything eastern of him away. He'll turn him into Little America like he no doubt planned from the start."

"You're wrong," Korea accused with a jut of her jaw.

"Am I?" China asked sternly. "You are growing weaker by the day. You are dying and it's because of your child."

"What do you know?" Korea spat out in anger and fear. "You are childless. How dare you preach to me on this matter?"

China's brown eyes held Korea's form as he wrapped his lips around his bong and inhaled. Blowing out the smoke, clouding the room in a mist. "I have had many children over the millennia," the Ancient informed.

"But I don't recall . . ."

"You either live long enough to produce a child in your land, or short enough to be run through with a weapon. All nations die and sooner or later a child comes along to bring about our destruction. If born in our land then we die. There cannot be a parent nation and a child in coexistence. I realized that a long time ago." Taking another inhale of the opium, China closed his eyes and let the smoke seep out of his nostrils. When he opened his eyes he looked toward Korea. "How do you think I lived for so long?"

Korea's eyes widened in horror. Had China just implied . . . and that he killed . . . just to live? How could a parent nation do that?

"I will heal, I will," Korea assured, though it sounded directed more to herself. She looked afraid and the fear came from the truth.

"Of course," China agreed with a knowing smile. "Once the one who drains it is no more."

"Yong Soo is not killing me!" Korea insisted, her limbs shaking with anger but Russia and China believed it to also be fear that shook the female nation's frame.

After a final puff of smoke excited out of China's mouth the Ancient leaned forward and offered Korea a kind and understanding smile, almost too soft for the old Asian country's face. "No nation wishes to die, Seondeok," he said as he reached out to touch her small wrist that trembled on her knees. "So we do what we must to survive. Kill the child and live."

Korea pulled her wrist away from China's touch. Her eyes held his gaze for a moment before she glanced away. She said no more words and left in deep troubled thought. Russia grinned and felt a victory coming along. If she bade China's advice then her love she held for America would be broken. The U.S. would no longer give the affections she once boasted over. He'd come to realize she wasn't worth loving and Russia's empire would grow. Thanks to an alliance with China his influence in the East was gaining ground and once his silent conquest was over then he'd move West.

"Do you think she'll do it?" Russia asked.

China tapped his pipe against his thigh in thought before leaning back in his chair. "Some parent nations willingly give up their lives for the next generation. I don't believe she is one of them. I have known her for a long time and I believe her desire to survive will outweigh that of the love she has for that thing."

"Da, but she swoons over Amerika. Do you think she'd risk their relationship over her only option of survival?" Russia questioned curiously since China seemed to know the girl well enough to predict actions. _I do hope she does._

China frowned. Russia knew that he knew of her proclaimed love for the United States of America. Their child was physical proof.

"He is western," China once again complained. "A mongrel compared to us more ancient countries. She is blinded. Fooled by his fakeness. If he cared for her then he'd kill that thing but Westerners only care for two things: themselves and turning the whole damn world Western!"

"She is conflicted," Russia reasoned to calm China's temper. "Why don't you offer your support so that her fear of doing what is right can be eased away?"

"I still have my own matters to deal with," China said after long thought. "And you'd risk me getting into a war with America. Why don't you?"

_Oh, I can't possibly do that. If I did we could destroy the world, Amerika and I. I simply won't have my empire consist of nothing but crumbling ash_, Russia thought as his smile splayed across his lips and he reached out to touch China's neck and then his jaw. He didn't like convincing nations via wooing but his boss demanded this of him if words didn't work so well.

"You are Asian, I am not. I am sure she would more gladly appreciate a fellow brother than a white man," Russia reasoned until he saw China smirk. Playing with the races always egged China on.

He didn't say a thing but as the Asian rose and refilled his pipe he took a deep inhale and exhaled the smoke to mask his form in a mystical mist.

"There will be a war, Èluósī," China informed and Russia smiled to China's implied agreement but more so at the vision of America's broken relationship.

A war is exactly what Russia wanted.

Seoul, Korea. June 24th 1950

"Say daddy. Say daddy," America bade as he held Yong Soo in his arms and bounced him lightly, making sure the boy's eyes met his in an attempt to make the toddler concentrate on him. The child had gotten big in the two years since his birth into the world. It amazed the world but mostly his mother. Of course she was reassured that his quick growth meant the child was very healthy and strong, and that his father's own quick growth was likely to blame into genetics.

Yong Soo looked to be that of a two-year-old. Just about his actual age. He was even learning to speak, having called Korea, "eomma," already. Now his ever busy father, who had heard about his child's developing vocals, made time in his clogged schedule to come and hear for himself and was now trying to coax the boy into saying the English word.

"Come on, Yong Soo. Da—" America opened his mouth wide to punctuate the sound. The brown-eyed boy opened his own lips in mirror. "Da—"America said again and soon Yong Soo was making the same sound as his parent nation. "Good boy, good boy. Now, da-ddy. Come on, Yong Soo, you can do it. Da-ddy, —ddy."

The little boy mimicked like America wanted. "Da— . . . ze—"

America chuckled and slumped his shoulders. Glancing toward Korea who sat on their bed and observed the two with happiness the woman offered him a quick nod to continue. Soon, America was back at it.

"Daddy."

"Da— ze—"

"Da-ddy."

"Da-ze."

"Eh, I guess that's close enough," America said in surrender before turning back toward Korea whom he caught with a frown on her face. "What's wrong, Seondeok?"

"Oh, I was just thinking," she excused her behavior. "You know, about my stay with Russia." It wasn't a complete lie.

"He didn't touch you, did he?" America asked and suddenly that dangerous frown offering so much threat appeared. Korea knew it wasn't directed toward her but she still didn't like seeing it. But if she listened to China then America would no doubt look at her like that. Why would she want something so horrible?

"No," Korea answered as she bowed her head. When she felt a gentle hand pull her chin up her eyes fell in love all over again at the sight of those gem-like blue eyes.

"I know something's wrong," America pressed with concern now over lacing his features. "You know you can tell me."

Korea wanted to tell him, she did, but she knew he wouldn't understand what it felt like to be drained of everything you had by . . . by . . .

Korea's eyes turned to her son who had been placed down on the floor and was now carelessly playing with his toys, his western toys. Even the clothes he was wearing right now was gifted by his father's tailors. And America was encouraging him to speak English, not Korean, the language of his people.

When Korea laid down to sleep she thought about these things, so much so that it kept her awake. But the feel of America's strong arms wrapping around her gave her a small comfort and her heart swelled with love. Turning in his arms, Korea observed the slumbering nation. He was so young, so beautiful, so full of life. Reaching out, Korea ran her fingers through those golden fields. She smiled sadly because she knew a time was coming soon to where she couldn't do this; where she couldn't run her fingers through his hair, stare into those beautiful blue eyes, kiss those warm accepting lips. A time was coming soon where she would not be able to feel the swell of love as America caressed her skin and kissed her hands.

No more sun-filled picnics.

No more long walks along the shores.

No more passionate nights of limbs entwined and breaths intermingled in pleasure.

No more. Korea would have no more of those things.

The cries of the one responsible for her torment turned her dark thoughts away from the sadness of the upcoming future. The cries also woke America as well. He groaned from the disrupted sleep.

"What time is it?" America groaned out as he reached over for the watch laying on the night stand next to the bed. If he would look he could see the early signs of the rising sun through the window curtains.

"At ease, my love," Korea said as she took her hands and pressed the man back down to lay and relax. "I'll tend to him."

America drowsily nodded and closed his squinting eyes. Smiling affectionately, Korea leaned down and kissed her lover sweetly. She had not expected a response but soon found the young nation kissing back. When Korea forced herself away she found passionate eyes looking back at her with the promise of pleasure in them. She smiled with delight and pressed a quick peck to America's lips before maneuvering her way out of the bed and heading toward the crib to pick up her son.

"It seems he is in need of a bath," Korea informed after smelling him. "I'll give him one."

"I'll be waiting," America said with that attractive smile of his, bordering childish and seductive at once. A smile only he could make.

Korea blushed at the nation's deeper tone before turning down the hall toward the bathing room.

Her son had calmed when he was sitting there, soaking in the tub. Now wide awake, the little boy nation-to-be gleefully played with the floating toys around him. Korea rubbed his skin of the grime collected and slowly she began falling back into the darkness of her thoughts, especially at seeing her son pick up a floating toy crafted to resemble a warship, the likes constantly congesting her shores, rivers, and harbors.

What would Yong Soo be when he became the nation of Korea? A warmonger like Russia . . . like America?

The Westerners were trying to turn the East into their likeness starting with the little ones. It wouldn't be Yong Soo's fault. He was just a babe and wouldn't know that he'd forgotten his ancestors, the land inherited to him through death. He couldn't begin to comprehend right now what his father was trying to do. If Korea was allowed to live then she could resist. She would never forget because her memory was clearer than that of a young child.

Let it be her to take the pain. Let it be her to be continually loved by America.

Korea smiled at her smiling little boy as he squealed and splashed his toy boat into the warm waters. When she took his hands in hers so that he didn't constantly splash into the liquid so much she placed them against her cheek and kissed both. His little fingers wrapped tightly around her fingers. He had a strong grip, just like his father.

"Eommaga seomgunure gul ddareo gamyeon," Korea began to sing the words, forming a tune around them into a lullaby she felt right in her heart for her poor, poor child. "Agiga honja nama jibeul bodaga. Badaga bulreo juneun jajang norae e. Phalbego seureureureu jami deumnida . . ."

Yong Soo didn't know. He could never understand without his mother.

"Agineun jameul gonhi jago itjiman," Korea continued as she washed her son's palms and then each of his tiny fingers. "Galmaegi ureum sori mami seolre eo. Da motchan gulbaguni meorie igo." She rose her hands to press against the back of his skull as she leaned him back in the waters to rinse his shampooed hair but she neglected to hold his nose shut. "Eommaneun moraetgireul dalryeo omnida . . ." Korea felt heavy tears leak out of her eyes and fall suddenly into the tub waters where the element rippled with their contact and that of Yong Soo's twitching and shaking.

Korea loved her son very much. She knew he wouldn't understand this but it was for his own good. She didn't want him to see those wars, to get conquered, to be treated like a slave; beat, starved, raped. No, not her son. So Korea decided to she would save him before it came to that. Instead, she swore to take his place and endure where she was certain he wouldn't.

"SEONDEOK!"

The female nation found herself pushed so hard away that her body flew and hit the wall near the sink. Her arms still dripped wet with the tub's waters but the most feeling her body recognized was the aching in her spine.

A loud splash alerted Korea's attention toward the tub where she watched America pull out a red-faced crying Yong Soo. He was having a hard time crying with all of that water in his lungs. America pulled him flush against his chest and began patting his back to get him to spit all of the liquid up, not caring if his nightshirt had been soaked to his skin.

His eyes, America's eyes were wide in shock, but mostly horror as he looked at her. "What were you trying to do to him? !"

For a second hate flashed through America's fear-glazed eyes and it was directed at her. Korea felt her heart break all over again as the love of her life stared at her the way he did Russia or China.

"Please," Korea begged as her tears became more constant, falling down her face quickly. "I have to."

"To what? Kill your own son? _My_ son? !" America shook his head in disbelief.

"I am dying because of him," Korea explained. "Let me save my life but also spare him from a life as a nation. I am giving him mercy."

"No!" America refused to listen and then noticed how Korea had attempted to crawl closer to him; instead he took a large step back. Yong Soo was still crying and coughing. "You, stay away! Don't you dare touch me!"

Korea flinched at the harsh tone. The broken shards of her heart felt as if someone was stepping on what was left of them, grinding them to dust. A sob ripped out of her throat and her body felt weak with emotional distraught.

"Was it him?"

When Korea looked back up toward America she noticed his gaze darkened and his hold on the sniffling Yong Soo was tighter, more protective as he turned at an angle as to hide the toddler from his murderous mother's sight.

"Did Russia put these thoughts in your head? !" Korea made to answer but America continued in his fit of rage, as if refusing to let her speak. "He did, didn't he? That fucking Communist! I'll fucking kill him!"

America turned on his heel so fast that when Korea blinked he was gone from the bathing room. Regaining what strength she could to manage the pain in her back, Korea stood up on her feet and followed the strong nation back to their bedroom where she watched the westerner being gathering his things like he normally did when he made to return to his land. Yong Soo was still in one of his arms, crying for attention. Korea had then caught the sound of America's rambling mutters.

"He can't fucking do this. This is my territory. He's got no right. If he wants a fucking war, then he's got it!"

No, America couldn't go to war with Russia. Korea feared for the safety of the world. What if America lost? Russia would surely kill him, and her son . . . Korea didn't want to think what Russia would do to her child. No, she refused to let Yong Soo be tortured. It was better he died by his mother's hand than that monster.

"It wasn't him, it was me," Korea begged America to accept her false statement, but the blond was too paranoid to listen.

"You're a fucking liar!" America bit back and Korea reeled backwards with a gasp at the sight of his glistening eyes. She had hurt him. She'd hurt his trust as well as his heart.

"Alfred," Korea tried once more, stepping closer toward the young nation and showing her own tears to him but the man simply backed away again, turning his gaze away from her in shame.

"Don't—" he began and then swallowed hard. "Get away from me. Get out of my sight."

The rejection broke Korea's resolve more and she threw her face into her hands, weeping bitterly. The sound of her sobs brought America's eyes back to her and then his own tears fell.

"You too?" America asked softly as his voice cracked from the sadness of the betrayal. "Am I that undeserving of any love?"

Korea looked up at America's blurry form. His eyes held sincere sadness and hurt as he looked at her for the answers to her horrific actions.

"No," Korea answered as she shook her head. "You are caring, compassionate, honest, everything to me. It is I whose love I feel is not good enough for you."

Yong Soo made another whine, drawing his father's attention down to him. "Da-ze—" he hiccupped out, clutching onto America's wet night shirt tightly. America lifted him up his chest and pressed the boy's head against his neck in a manner to comfort as well as shield. Glancing away, America said—

"If this is how you love me then I don't want it."

It looked like it had been hard for America to say those twelve words as Korea watched soon after the nation's lips began trembling and his brow furrowed. Then, he turned, his back to her with nothing more to say.

Nothing else Korea could say would change America's stance. So she turned and fled north.

Pyongyang, Korea. June 25th 1950

Russia could not help his smile. The sight of Korea weeping pathetically from a relationship broken because of her own actions gave Russia so much pleasure. So, to act as if some concern had overcome him, the Slavic nation eased his presence out of the room, leaving China to comfort their newest ally because God knew Russia didn't have a single ounce of care in him for the female nation.

"You did what you had to do," China said as he held the weeping country in his arms. "It is just a shame you didn't finish the child while you had the chance."

"What am I to do now?" Korea asked, looking up at China through red eyes. "Am I to die here as my child grows and drains me?"

"Of course not," China chided like the very thought was silly. "We will make sure it never grows. You will have your land back. You will have your life back."

"But I will never have America back . . . will I?" Korea's eyes almost looked dead as her thoughts turned to the Superpower.

A love lost is a terrible thing that can torment the mind and degrade the body. Russia felt no pity at the sight of her. He was glad now that she was feeling the pain like he had all those decades ago.

"Forget about that Capitalist," China ordered. "What good has he ever done but try to turn the world like him? You need to save your child before he's turned Western. Now that my civil war is over and won I swear to help you."

Korea nodded slowly but was quiet to China's proclamation of allegiance.

"You want to survive, right?" China pressed to get her to respond more openly. He was determined to become the dominant country in Asia. Russia knew he wanted to be respected again and to regain territory lost to him by Japan. Russia wouldn't stop him so long as he didn't try to threaten him. If so then the interests invested in nurturing that Asian country's social system would become worthless and Russia would have no choice but to show the Ancient just who really had the power and influence in the East and soon to be the rest of the world.

"Then you will fight," China demanded. "Force America from your shores. Let him have Japan, he can torment him until the end of time; I could care less about him and you could as well. Be the one to run him out of Asia."

"Very well," Korea replied, though, both China and Russia could see the reluctance in her posture. They knew that no matter her previous feelings she would carry out this war that she had started and try her best to finish it. "But . . ." With her eyes hard on China in demand she said, "It will be my hand that smothers my child. You will not touch him."

"As long as you finish it," China agreed.

And just like that Russia would sit back and watch this war unfold while America no doubt threw himself in it like the hero he assumed himself to be.

Seoul, Korea. September 5th 1951

The desk toppled over before it was flung into the wall that Canada just so happened to be standing close to.

"EEh!" He squeaked before his violet eyes widened at the sight of his close call with death. "Al!" Canada bellowed as he turned toward his brother in arms. "You almost hit me!"

The loud crash of the desk and Canada's unusual loud tone stressed the air around enough to bring the young child seated in his playpen in the room to wails of upset. Canada watched America groan and press the palms of his hands to his skull as if trying to crush it.

"Now look what you've done," Canada complained as he made his way over toward the crying young nation.

"No!" America spoke up as his eyes locked onto Canada's form. "Don't you touch him!"

"What has gotten into you, Al?" Canada questioned with concern. "You scared him and now you won't let me comfort him?"

"He won't stop crying," America muttered as he stood up and walked over to the playpen where the little new country stood, clinging to the wooden bars and crying up at his father.

"Da-ze, da-ze!" South Korea cried as he reached out his hands to the nation standing before him.

"He won't stop crying because his people are dying. Comfort him? How? I can't even win this war fast enough. She's with China and there's just so many of them," America said just as South Korea managed to catch a hold of the fabric of America's khaki pant leg.

Canada watched as sadness seeped out of America's eyes, affecting the rest of his facial features to shift from frustrated to grief-stricken.

"How could Seondeok do this to me . . . to him?" There was now a present anger in America's gaze, Canada saw it clearly. "I know it was Russia who poisoned her against me. He's been nothing but a bastard since . . ."

Bending down to rest on his haunches, America pressed his forehead against the wooden bars of the playpen where Yong Soo reached out and pulled at the western nation's golden locks.

"He's not growing, Matt," America informed as his eyes scanned his son's poor state of health. He was too young to be going through something like this, much too young. "Before, he used to grow as fast as a human child but ever since that day when she . . . he's not growing and he won't stop crying. Who do I blame more? Myself or her? No, it's Russia. He wants to see me miserable. He wants to see South Korea dead."

Alfred's grip on the wooden bars snapped a few in half. He looked down at the broken pieces in his hands before he stood and turned to Canada.

"What do I do, Mattie?" Canada had never seen America so hurt and desperate since the American Revolution. "He needs his mother, but if I give him to her then she'll kill him and Russia will win."

Canada had no words to comfort the tormented Superpower. The weight on his shoulders seemed so heavy that Canada couldn't imagine the pain of it. So he offered him support in the war and prayed it ease his demons if only a little bit.

Moscow, Russia. April 1953

Russia felt no sorrow whatsoever over his leader's death. Not a tear came to his eye as he stared at the man's final resting place, in that mausoleum with that man he had once claimed to hate, now they were buried together. Side by side.

Oddly enough, Russia was a little unsettled. Whether sealed within that coffin and confined to gates and guards, Russia wondered if it'd be enough to keep him in the tomb. Deep inside he held scars from the man, the largest being his ever present fear of him even in death. The thought of him faking his death tormented Russia's already tormented mind. Even if he was truly dead and gone he knew his ghost would return to haunt him—as if Russia didn't have a ghost currently doing that.

There was still respect for the man; he had brought Russia to the near top of the world in might and influence but it was also this man that dragged him away from his love, whispering lies in his ear about the western aggression and then informed him the solution: to have the most devastating weapons and largest armies, the most advanced technology and the fittest of physique. In all Russia's life as a country he had never been as strong as he was now and it was thanks to that dead man.

Still . . . Russia had thought he couldn't have died quicker. The change of control made Russia grin. He'd seen Stalin's successor and, my, what a disappointment he'd have been if Stalin saw him now, but Russia felt him to be perfect . . . the perfect little puppet. Despite his people wishing Russia to defend himself from possible outside threats the nation was too busy plotting to concern himself with defenses because he hadn't felt threatened at all. He was surrounded by his territory conquered by craftiness and fear. Western influence was far from him.

The death of a founding leader was always the best time for an enemy to strike. An adversary of Russia's could easily attempt a war while no settled and securely strong leadership was about but Russia knew there was only one competitor strong enough to strike and attempt to beat him down and Russia knew that America wouldn't dare. With Stalin gone, Mother Russia was the next most frightening figure in the land. So once his new leader settled into his overwhelming office and Russia allowed the illusion of comfort to set upon him, then he'd come to him and show him who the real master was.

And that was what he did. Russia took Mr. Malenkov into a private room and made his demands very clear.

"You think you are Stalin incarnate? Heh, don't make me laugh," Russia said as he circled the unnerved man who looked pleasantly pale. "You are a pathetic excuse as a leader and you know everyone sees it. They already plot to overthrow you and I will not lift a finger if they should do such a thing."

"But I am your leader, Russia," the man protested but Russia's hand on his shoulder silenced him.

"Da, for now," Russia agreed with a nod as he leaned down on his shoulders and smiled at him. "I may help you stay in office for a little while if you should listen to me."

"If I haven't any possible power then why try to make demands of me?" Mr. Malenkov asked with a worried look.

"Because if you do this for me, carry out my plans, then I will get you influence. I am Mother Russia. If I show my devotion to you—even if it is fake—the people's hearts will change to you," Russia replied.

"What do you want of me?" Russia smiled. Good, he was a willing listener.

Rising, Russia began pacing around the man before ever so slowly stopping in front of him to stare into him and show him his dominance. "My past leaders have shaped me into their near images, so I will not make too many demands you disagree with. I want the world, da. Everyone, in time, will become one with Russia. My house is big enough for everyone. My crops will feed every nation's mouth. My economy will provide them all with work. I have plenty of clothes to keep them warm and covered. I even have beds for them to lay their weary heads on."

It seemed like Russia was rambling on his dream of world domination to his new leader but he was getting to a point, and this was it. With narrowed eyes and his lips falling from a smile and bordering a demanding frown, Russia said—

"My room is spacious and laden with expensive tapestry and skilled furnish. My bed is big . . . big enough for even the United States of Amerika."

Just as Russia foresaw his new boss' face shifted from confusion to reluctance. He shook his head and rubbed his sweating neck. "You aim high, Russia," the human said. He understood what Russia's figurative demand meant. "I haven't the power for that, nor the life-time."

"You will leave that to me," Russia reassured. "Just do not speak back to me and obey only me and you will have this land's heart in your hands. Da, I am strong. Who is there to stop me?"

"Him," Russia's boss stated, referring to America.

Russia frowned. "My scientists make bigger bombs, my machinery runs faster, my soldiers are strong. They all prove I am strongest. I will have what I want," Russia demanded. The least his new boss could do if he didn't agree with him was stay silent.

"What you want needs wars," his boss said, shaking his head. "This is a delicate time, Russia. It will take time before the government is secured."

"I am a patient man," Russia stated.

"When the wars do come, do you know who will fight them? Amerika," Mr. Malenkov informed.

"Da, but the number of my missiles will bring him to his knees," Russia said with a smile at the vision of America throwing his arms into the air in surrender, in submission to him. "I do not want him entirely destroyed as my previous bosses did. He was promised to me by General Winter himself and I want my due. Go ahead, hate him. All I ask is that you say nothing to him sharing my room, with me. I do not care about clashing ideals. When I am sole world power his ideals will not be of concern any longer. He will be one with me and only me. I have sought this dream to become a reality for centuries and you, my comrade, are to help me."

Leaning in closer Russia watched with glee as his boss attempted to pull away, but the chair stopped him and soon Russia was a mere daunting few inches away from his face. "One by one I will take the world, America's influence will disappear and when he's thrown himself into isolation I will come and stamp down his defenses and take him to live with me in my land—in my room—in my bed."

"It will take time," Russia's boss said once more. "A long time."

"I have already waited centuries for him, I can wait more. Just, when you die and leave your throne—whether that be sooner or later—pass down my criteria to your successors." That was Russia's final demand as he backed away from the human. Straightening himself Russia walked toward the door and opened it to leave. Before he left his presence completely, Russia turned his head back toward him. "Da?"

The man nodded slowly. "Da."

With a pleased grin, Russia left. It was good to be in control once again. Lenin and Stalin had stripped him of every role in his land save for servant and soldier. He influenced no decision and when they wanted a country as an ally then they'd demand Russia go and do whatever means to comply to their demands. Now he was the master, no longer the puppet.

The one problem though was his people's great upset with the weak new leader. It would prove hard to gain their admiration for that man. Even he could see the uselessness and the ferocity of the competition. Still, Russia would play with him until his time's run out and when the next boss stood up then Russia would make sure not to give him an ounce of power like he had with Lenin and Stalin.

"Mr. Russia, sir, this is for you."

Russia was pulled from his thoughts as Lithuania came up to him with a letter on a tray. Looking down at it Russia smiled. It was from China.

"Oh, it's from China. I wonder what his response was," Russia said as he merely opened the letter and read it. After a while he frowned and out of the corner of his eye he could see Lithuania begin to scoot away from him.

Crumpling the letter Russia tossed it back onto the tray the brunette held. "Go and grab me paper and a pen. China thinks he's the boss of the East. How funny. When I tell him to end the war in Korea he will listen to me."

"You . . . want the war over with?" Lithuania asked in surprise before he caught himself for speaking without permission. Russia didn't seem to mind though.

"Da," Russia said with a nod. "If I say to start a war then China will listen, if I say to end it then he will listen. Now get me a pen and paper." Besides, the war had already accomplished what Russia wanted: the breakup of Korea and America.

"R-Right away, sir!" Lithuania answered, darting off to find a piece of paper and a pen to write with.

Russia let out a sigh and wondered how far China would go in attempting to assert his dominance. Russia was going to dominate the world, not China. That old nation was spent and didn't know a thing about governing. Besides, he wouldn't be able to care for the nations living with him if he took the world over. He especially wouldn't treat America fairly; he knew China particularly despised the Western nations, especially the golden boy. No, America was his.

He enticed China to urge a war of western cleansing with Korea just to break their relationship. Russia would entice more wars if anyone dared come close to America again, even if it was his ally China.

Korea. October 1953

Was China's embrace warmer than his? His arms stronger in hold and words sweeter? It could be because he was Asian and America, well; he was just a foreign white man every slanted-eyed person wanted out of their continent.

The fact that she had chosen separation over America's open-door policy added in the young nation's fill of resentment as he glared at the two countries who were out and about collecting their fallen like he was. They had already signed the armistice months ago. There had been some little quarrels here and there and the war was never "officially" declared over but all in all there was peace—if one would call the silence and turn of heads peace.

Oddly enough it had been Russia who pressed for China to end the war sooner than the Asian wanted. In a sense America was grateful for Russia's intervention fearing that China would have continued to push until America and his men fell into the ocean. Though, of course, he'd never admit this out loud.

America didn't turn his gaze from them in their silent task. He glared and glared and purposely got in both their way as he hauled his fallen men over his shoulders to carry back to the trucks. His boys had fought so hard to stop the North Koreans and Chinese. They did America proud and he'd make sure to give them a proper burial once they were home. But he still couldn't help the fact that he felt their deaths could have been prevented.

He shouldn't have given Korea—North Korea—so much freedom. He had thought her to be a strong-willed woman who was kind and full of love and passion. That was what he fell in love with, not this . . . whatever she was now.

She tried to kill her own child and America could never forgive her for that. The thought of Yong Soo—South Korea—made him sad and his concern grew. He prayed the boy grew as fast as he had when he was his age. Because the threat of his mother to the north was constant and America couldn't always be there to protect him though he swore to God he'd try.

Traveling back to Seoul, America returned to the home that had once belonged to North Korea. She had arranged the rooms to add him to the living in her home because of so many times he vacationed with her. They had even constructed South Korea's room when she was expecting him. They had done so much to the home together that every time America would enter it he'd be reminded of her and it hurt because his son continued to cry for his mother now gone.

"How many today, lad?" England asked as they sat in the dining room eating and drinking and relaxing after a taxing day.

"A hundred and six," America answered with an emotionless sigh, numbering the count of his dead he collected that day.

He heard England set his teacup down on the plate and sigh. "God, I'm glad this is over. How are you feeling?"

America hardly shrugged his shoulders before saying, "I'm more concerned with South Korea. Where's France?"

"Right there," Australia said as he pointed over toward the kitchen counters where France and Canada were prepping some desert.

America looked confused at his presence before he narrowed his eyes. "France?"

"Yes, mon cher?" France said as he turned around and smiled that pretty smile of his at America.

"Why aren't you watching South Korea?" America asked as his limbs shook to stand and go to check on the boy to make sure he was safe.

"Eh . . ." France rubbed his stubble before noticing America's clenching fists. Holding up his hand he defended himself. "W-Wait! Now, before you go and accuse me of being negligent I'll have you know he's being cared for."

"You shouldn't have let him watch the boy," England chided in, still harboring an upset from earlier that day over the fact that America had entrusted France to watch over South Korea instead of the boy's own grandfather. "There's no telling how many diseases the frog's contracted."

France glared back at England for a moment before turning back toward America and explaining himself. "He is a handful, I know that, and I brought a friend to help settle him down."

To prove himself and to save his ass from America's wrath France escorted him back into the nursery where the others followed quietly, curiously. When looking inside America's eyes met the sight of an Asian woman bouncing a quiet South Korea on her lap. It was good to see the boy settled for a little while, but everyone was more so surprised at the woman who had gotten him to settle down in his post-war state.

She was a country.

"Ah, I knew if anyone could shut his screaming pie hole it'd be you, Vietnam," France swooned over to her and placed his hands atop her shoulders while beaming with brilliant pride.

The female nation smiled politely up at France and then looked to the others viewing the scene and offered them a pleasant smile as well.

"You let an _Asian _woman care for South Korea without watching her? !" America seemed thoroughly pissed. France had tried to make him happy after the frustrating war with getting an Asian friend of his to care for the child but it seemed he may have taken it too far with this.

Marching over to Vietnam, America ripped South Korea out of her arms and just as soon as he had the little boy began crying, but his cries fell on deaf ears.

"Don't touch him, Asian!" America demanded. He'd had enough of them lately, especially their women.

Vietnam jumped up to her feet at the startling turn of events and narrowed her eyes at the screams coming from the toddler. "Look what you have done, you stupid man. Treat him gentler then he wouldn't need a woman to calm him."

"Yeah?" America questioned with a frown, not backing down to Vietnam's accusing statement. "The last time I allowed a woman to care for him she tried to kill him!"

"Fine, then _you_ try to calm him," Vietnam motioned as she crossed her arms and waited for his move.

America looked at her deadpanned. Had he not expected her challenge? After all he was a Superpower; surely a small country like Vietnam couldn't hope to offer any kind of challenge to him. But she did and America was at a loss because he knew the truth, and the truth was that he never took the time to learn how to calm the screaming boy. That's not to say he didn't try but to his embarrassment he was losing this battle under the scrutinizing gaze of that woman.

With a roll of her eyes, Vietnam did something no other country dared to: she snatched South Korea out of America's arms.

Standing there dumbfounded, America watched Vietnam coo the little child in her native tongue before speaking Korean to the boy. That seemed to settle him down. His wails now shifting into sniffles and his teary eyes dropping fewer tears. Perhaps America should broaden his Korean vocabulary.

"You see, I told you, mon cher," France said as he came close to America after it was obvious his anger had cooled. "The touch of a woman soothes the crying babes."

America said nothing more and excused his presence from the room. Heading toward his office he attempted to complete some work and try and not worry about the young nation in that woman's arms. After all the paper work was signed and he was nursing another headache America looked at the late hour and decided to go and see if South Korea was slumbering. He knew for certain Vietnam wouldn't be able to get him to sleep, woman or not, the child hadn't slept peacefully for a good two minutes since the war had started and even after the fighting had stopped he still woke up in tears every five minutes.

The others had already headed back to their hotel rooms and Vietnam likely joined them. It was odd enough though that America had yet to hear the tell-tale signs of South Korea's cries. Peeking his head inside the dimly lit room he gapped in surprise to see Vietnam still present, _alone_ with South Korea. But the boy was sleeping with her sitting next to him and her hand atop his back in gentle massaging circles.

When she looked up she was surprised herself to see America standing in the doorway. Letting out a sigh she turned her gaze back down to South Korea and whispered softly, "Everything is fine now. You don't have to worry."

"How long has he been . . .?"

Vietnam offered America a smile. The look in her eyes told America that she understood the child's disrupted sleeping habit. "For a good half hour," she informed much to America's relieved surprise.

Closing his eyes America took off his glasses and rubbed his weary eyelids before sliding the lenses back on his face and looking at the female country. "Can I speak to you for a moment?" No matter what, his questions were secret demands to other countries. Whether he knew it or not was a subject of debate, but even the third world countries knew to never say no to the United States of America.

Vietnam nodded and was escorted out of the room. The two took their walk outside. The air was chilly in the night and Vietnam, being from a more humid and warmer climate was chilled the bone. Being improperly dressed when traveling north wasn't her wisest decision.

Her eyes widened and her lips parted to let out a surprised soft gasp. The feeling of heavy material being draped over her shoulders took her by surprise but more so that it had been America placing his own jacket on her.

"I wanted to thank you for caring for Yong Soo," America said with a soft and serenely grateful smile. "And to apologize for my behavior earlier. That was wrong of me to place you in a caste with the rest of your relatives."

"It is alright," Vietnam said as she touched the sleeve of the jacket around her and blushed. Right now she was inwardly wondering if the powerful nation realized how handsome he was, especially in the light of the moon. She felt France to be quite handsome as well and adored his presence in her home, but America . . . he was such a gentleman and quick to apologize for his brash behavior. It was something nearly unheard of with younger countries, but made them highly desirable.

"It's just I was betrayed by his mother. She wanted me to choose between her life and his. I chose his and so she fought," America explained. "But I suppose that sounds like another excuse, huh?"

"No, not at all," Vietnam said, shaking her head and surprising America with her ability to understand his troubles. "I understand completely," she assured. "France told me all about what happened. I understand struggles. Every nation has them, and I suppose you most of all."

America smiled earnestly at her and the weariness shown. "Thank-you for that, Vietnam."

"Please, call me Lien," Vietnam insisted. She usually wasn't this quick to trust Western nations. It took years before she gave France her human name. Perhaps it was America's good looks; the devil. He could rule the world just by smiling so attractively like that if he wanted to. She was sure of it.

America blinked in surprise at the given name. Vietnam felt her cheeks burn and she quickly rubbed them with her knuckles, blaming the cold weather for their change of color. When she stole a glance back at America she felt her heart beat nearly stop at the sight of him standing next to her, his hands in his pant pockets, and his beautiful deep blue eyes softened while a gentle smile pulling on his frown-laden lips.

"Alright," he said in agreement with her request. "Lien."

The way he said her name brought Vietnam's heart back to life but the pace was too fast for comfort and unsettled her stomach with numerous flutters traveling up her spine like electricity.

She should have stayed home when France took his leave to travel to Korea's land to see his allies because now she was uncomfortable in America's presence and she'd inwardly resent France for introducing her to him. She hadn't felt so troubled over these silly feelings in a long time and blushed at the fact that the nation making her feel like this was just a child compared to her.

And what unnerved her the most was that she didn't care.

* * *

**Daughter Of The Revolution:**** Wow, found out that this little Cold War spell may take a while, as in may take a few chapters. I have another one on the way as I write and where it ends means there is likely to be at least three chapters full of the Cold War era. I tend to want to skim through the events buuut, some events are too good to pass up. Thanks again, fans, for liking this story so much. Your comments really inspire me!**

**History Time!**

**Timeline: Cold War Era, and, Korean War**

**South Korea was officially formed/born on August 15th 1948 by the United States. The reason why he is America's baby is for that reason alone. You could say I could have done a North Korea as Russia's child buuut, I decided that a North Korea who is indeed the mother of little South Korea would make for more drama and angst D:**

**[North] Korea was dying because South Korea was born on her land. I see it as like Mama Greece and Mama Egypt who passed on to give way to their sons who inherited their land. South Korea was the same in here but his mother fought him and managed to remain alive by not accepting his existence which I don't think the North Koreans do :/**

**On August 29th 1949 the Soviet Union successfully tested their first atomic bomb that the American's nicknamed Joe 1 after Joseph Stalin :D Yay, Russia's now a nuclear power. No one expected them to be until mid 1950's, well surprise, world!**

**China speaks about unrest in his land because of the Chinese Civil War [1945-1949] where the Communists reigned triumphant and later helped the North Koreans in their attempt to reunify Korea.**

**And yes, as America attempts to get little Yong Soo to say, "daddy," he instead says, "da-ze." That is a reference to APH South Korea who says that often in the manga. I did it because it was a cute idea =:B**

**The lullaby that Korea sings to Yong Soo is called "Island Baby" or "Baby on an Island" it's an old traditional Korean lullaby that was written in 1950 (or earlier) I believe. It's pretty much about a mother leaving her son one day for the day's work and then returning to find he's been washed away by the tide and so she goes off looking for him. (Or something along those lines :/) Look it up on Youtube. It's a sweet lullaby :)**

**On June 25th 1950 at dawn the North Koreans crossed the 38th parallel and opened fired, beginning the Korean War.**

**March 5th 1953 months before the end of the Korean War, Joseph Stalin died and Georgy Malenkov took his place, the latter being seen as incompetent by the other parties and is soon to be removed. **

**Because of Stalin's death the Russians pushed for the Korean War to end, but Chinese leader, ****Mao Zedong**, didn't want to listen. Despite this, on June 27th 1953 the **Korean Armistice Agreement was signed to end the fighting, but there was really no peace treaty signed so by all accounts the war wasn't officially over, but the North Koreans said they won anyways ;)**

******Ever since China's civil war the country's been kicking up their game. Continually they're seen throughout the Cold War, not just America and Russia, so you'll be seeing a lot of China, especially in Asia where he goes on to assert his dominance.**

******And, yay, I introduced Vietnam! Man, can anyone guess what's going to happen to her? Hm, seems like America can't catch a break in his relationships. :p Yeah, sorry, America/Vietnam is probably my fav APH het pairing so I couldn't resist and let's just say her relationship gets to about the same point as Russia and America's relationship.**

******Daughter Of The Revolution: Next chapter we'll see Germany again, the Vietnam War will be delved into, as well as Russia's soon to be strain with China for certain reasons. We'll get to see how Prussia's fairing and how he feels about the crazy world around him and living with Russia. Yep, we'll focus on a little bit more characters next chapter. This chapter was just the beginning.**


	13. Secrets Revealed

**_IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE:_**

**Daughter Of The Revolution: FIRST off, thank you, readers, for your opinions, they are yours whether they are nasty ones or not. I enjoy reading them all and how you honestly feel about a chapter because it helps me grow as an author. Constructive criticism was great, but the others that weren't so constructive, well, here's for you guys: I feel I need to explain myself for these chapters since alota people are either turned off, confused, upset, etc. I had given warnings in my previous chapter that there would be Het Pairings and the reason for that is this . . . **

**I'm trying to add more drama and angst into this story to show America's upset in the Cold War. Now, throughout the chapters, you readers were supposed to figure this out on your own if you stuck through it but now that this issue has arose here's the SPOILERS:**

**1) ****America hooking up with female Korea was meant to show the "split" of the North and South with the North turning out to be a woman he once knew and now continually has tensions with.**

**2) ****America hooking up with Vietnam (not going to get too involved in the relationship since I tend to skip large chunks of historical events and the Vietnam War will likely be one of those) is also the same thing. It is meant to show Russia making sure he got what he wanted, which is to make sure no other nation courts America, which results in conflicts between the two nations, antagonized by Russia, himself, if need be. It's sad and adds to America and Russia's tension because of this.**

**3) ****Vietnam, herself, is a curious country (at least in this fanfic, because it's still just that, a _fanfic_). Despite her people getting upset with the French and the rest of the "white men" _she's_ curious and _she_ likes their different fashion, and s_he_ finds their culture fascinating, and _she_ thinks they're handsome boys (as I had her comment about France and America's good looks). And once again the country today does not share this opinion (though they are slightly coming around to the U.S. again, _slightly_), but their culture does have tell-tale signs of French influence still to this day. So she's acting more so like Russia had in the previous chapters; still harboring feelings for America while her people harp on her to get rid of her relationship. Which you all know what happens in the end. I would say she is representing South Vietnam who had fought alongside the Americans to stop the North Vietnamese from unifying the country under communism, just as America represented the Union instead of the Confederacy in his Civil War. **

**4) ****This is Historical in a sense of events and slight country relationship. Since it's still a _fanfic_ I have the liberty to mess around a little bit with relationships if only for the country's interests and not their people's (as once explored in a previous chapter in which young America asks Russia as Russia, and not Russia as the country, what he likes instead of his people. In this fanfic the countries can have different likes than their people). If this was FULL-BLOWN Historical then Russia and America would have no more interest in the other. In fact, they'd hate each other's guts, especially in this time and Era. So, for a comforting SPOIL for those reading who are confused; America's still in love with the bastard and Russia's insanely obsessed with America because of the fact that General Winter had promised the nation to him and him alone. If ya'll wanted COMPLETE Historical accuracy in relations then there'd be hardly any RUSAME at that. It'd likely have ended even before WWI.**

**5) ****Also, for you concerned GERMERICA fans, if you really must know, let me SPOIL the outcome of these Cold War chapters: Russia gets to the point where whoever America's with he mentally destabilizes, with the help of China of course since a few are Asian. This results in America's distrust for close relationships. He'll get offers of courting later, but because of being hurt so much from, and during, the Cold War he becomes almost a recluse when it comes to intimacy. Germany happens to see this, as well as Prussia when he's finally free of Russia. Throughout this chapter and upcoming ones you'll see Germany's concern and want to tell America that Russia was doing it on purpose to break his heart (which he succeeded, despite that America is STILL in love with Russia). After Russia's got no more power to control those close to America, Germany finally manages to grow some courage to talk to America after years of watching the younger country struggle in his relationships and world power status. Germany offers to be the one to care for and cherish America instead of him having to do that to his special others (which happened to be females and so America automatically took on the seme role). In the end Prussia's plan succeeds in that Germany would bide his time and let Russia show his true colors to shove America right into Germany's arms. America gives it a try and falls in love with Germany.**

**THERE! There's ma spoilers just in case some of you were concerned. Hate me for this, whatever, but this story is STILL foremost RUSAME and GERMERICA, as you would have known if you just have a little patience for this poor ole Authoress as she continues to write and explain herself. And I WILL finish this freakin' fanfic despite anyone harpin' on me.**

**Well, now that most of you know what's bound to happen, let's see how we get to those points~ :D**

* * *

Geneva, Switzerland. July 18th 1955

Russia held that smile of his throughout the Geneva Summit as the other three countries and their bosses were present. He adored watching the uneasy shifts from the other countries and their leaders under his gaze. If his smile could make them all so nervous then he wondered what his frown could do if allowed to make such a facial expression toward them in public.

Of course his smirk was genuinely true when he looked at America. The boy wouldn't even look at him, even for a little bit. It was a little upsetting but Russia knew the reason for the nation's dislike for him. He was glad that he was to blame for the turmoil in Indochina, giving him so much credit for those uprisings was an honor indeed. Did America and the others really think so highly of his intelligence? Why, Russia was flattered.

He knew the young Superpower was upset with everything happening and, well, Russia felt it served the nation right. How dare he go off and court those two whores and act as if he cared for them. That didn't sit well with Russia at all so of course he had called in China to help persuade his relatives' minds. Now, Vietnam wasn't sure if she wanted to continue loving America or to shoot his brains out. The conflict made Russia giddy and sitting back and watching it all was his favorite part.

_You see, Amerika? They will only continue to hurt you, but not Mother Russia. I would never do such a thing. If only you'd see that then we could stop this silly little game of cat and mouse you call a Cold War_, Russia thought to himself as he watched America's face contort at the mention of the chaos in Asia. America always had such lovely facial expressions, even in his upset. Of course Russia missed his smiles the most but knew it would be a very long time before he ever saw those again.

But Russia could wait. Well, until he knew for certain that America had no means of fighting back.

"_So that is him, Russia_?" Russia's knew leader had leaned over to him and asked him this in their native tongue as he spied the youngest nation in the room sitting next to his own leader, quietly listening to the man speak to the others.

"_Da_," Russia answered back. It had been a shame his old leader had been ousted so soon, but he had warned him. It was all well, though, his new leader, while still not akin to the country of America and his people, found the idea of conquering the nation fascinating and had no qualms with Russia's wish in having America come live with him and share his bed. He felt that the young nation needed conquering to settle that pompous attitude of his.

Russia agreed. He knew it would not only change his attitude, but make him more desirable to be around. A submissive America was very pleasing to the mind and body. So Russia planned only making sure that the boy would slowly bow to him because Russia was strongest, and the strongest always got what they wanted.

"_Isn't he beautiful? I think he'd make the best decoration for my home_," Russia replied back while his leader chuckled.

At the exact same time, America's President and America himself turned their eyes on the two. They didn't like anyone speaking something they couldn't understand. It reminded Russia so much of England where the nation had been so powerful that he demanded everyone in his presence speak English. Now, America was no different.

"Is there something important you wish to share, Mr. Khrushchev?" President Eisenhower asked, his brow furrowed along with the tension from America's glare.

"Nyet," the man said with another chuckle, not even concerning himself with the other glares being directed toward him. He simply sat back in his chair and stared America's boss down much to the other's upset. Russia liked his new leader very much.

The meeting went on from there. They spoke about many things, all concerning world peace. Russia chuckled, England snickered, France snorted, and America sighed. All of the countries knew that simply was not going to happen in the near future.

When the talks were done with and all business aside Russia's boss impressed him by approaching America. The tall country looked surprised at the action but acknowledged his presence nonetheless.

"I have seen you on television, but never in person. It is a pleasure to meet you, Amerika." Khrushchev offered his hand and despite America's reluctance he reached out and shook it.

"The pleasure is mine, though I never met Russia's previous boss before you," America said.

"You wouldn't have liked him, so it matters not," Khrushchev said. There was a long silence afterwards with the Russian leader simply staring at America's traits and making the boy uneasy. "You're a very beautiful country, Amerika," he finally said and made the boy even more uncomfortable. America's eyes continued to dart back toward England and France who were engaged in talks with his boss.

"T-Thanks," America said. Anyone could tell he looked for a way to excuse himself as soon as possible.

"It's no wonder he wants you," Khrushchev said with a wide grin before he turned and left America in confusion.

Russia observed his boss's confrontation. His previous leader would have never stood up to the country himself, and Stalin . . . the man wouldn't even acknowledge the blonde's presence. More and more Russia was finding himself devoted to Mr. Khrushchev and now he wondered how far he'd raise him in his and America's little arms race.

America was uncomfortably flustered by the time Russia's leader left him to his own thoughts and his and Russia's eyes met once before America turned and looked toward France to converse with. Russia smiled and watched as America attempted to strike a conversation with the Frenchman. He was babbling on about useless things, like normal.

Turning back toward his boss, Russia watched as the man approached America's boss who had been speaking with England's boss. The man didn't look too pleased with the interruption but followed Russia's boss anyways. Russia didn't have to spy on them to know what they were going to be talking about so he minded his own business for now and attempted to speak with other delegates.

"I am very grateful that you and your country had decided to attend this summit," Eisenhower said with a formal smile.

"Da, but you and I both know these talks will get us nowhere," Khrushchev put simply and watched as America's President's smile downed and his eyes narrowed in the distrust he knew he harbored.

"Are you telling me that you had come here with full knowledge that you intended to sit idle and ignore the world's pleas, Mr. Khrushchev?" the President asked.

"In a way, da," the man said with a smug look and nod of his head. "But, let's be honest, we know that it is not the world's pleas for peace, it is yours and your country. You know why I think? I think it's because you're afraid. Afraid of me. My people. My country."

"Well, why don't you test that out, Mr. Khrushchev, since you seem so sure?" America's boss seemed to push his own weight just as much and if he was unnerved, well, he hid it well.

The Russian smiled and let out a loud laugh. "I could, Mr. Eisenhower, know that we very well could. But, you see . . ." He turned, glancing toward the countries who were still conversing with each other, well, most except for Russia who no one seemed to want to talk to. "My country wouldn't be too happy about that. Well, he'd be extremely happy that your government was destroyed along with all of your assets and allies and influence in the world, but I'm afraid he'd be very angry with me if I was to put one scratch on your country's skin."

The President narrowed his eyes in confusion and furrowed his brow.

"He is infatuated with him and, well, as strong as he is now, it's only a matter of time before he gets what he wants," Khrushchev informed.

"Are you threatening an invasion?" America's boss asked, his eyes widening at the Russian leader's meaningful of words.

"There are other ways of conquering a nation without invasion," Khrushchev informed as he hooked his hands together behind his back.

The two again turned to their countries and this time noticed Russia had managed to strike a conversation up with America. The younger country looked reluctant to talk to him or even look at him for that matter, but the Russian continued speaking as if the other were listening closely and returning speech back. Mr. Khrushchev saw how the President of the U.S. looked at America, as some protective father over their child. It was understandable, after all the nation looked to be a mere nineteen years of age unlike the other countries present.

"I won't allow you to lay a finger on him, and neither would his people. They'd all rather die than hand him over," Eisenhower stated with a shake of his fist.

"Then you'd better find a better defense for yourself and him, because your offense is very lacking and completely unintimidating," Khrushchev replied.

That seemed to upset the President so much that he left the Russian and marched up to his country. Grabbing him by the arm he pulled him further away from the Russian nation.

"I don't even want you looking at him, Russia!" Eisenhower threatened in a quick second before turning and pulling America away with him. "Come, America, we're leaving."

"What?" America looked confused and as he turned back he noticed the others' confusion as well, well, except for Russia who just smiled that creepy smile of his and his boss who seemed to be smiling the same.

Dragging out toward their car his President motioned for him to get in first. America looked at him quizzically and then noticed England had rushed out of the building as well. America just put on a smile for him and waved him off. "Hey, don't worry, England, just gotta head off to do hero business."

"Is everything alright, sir?" England asked, looking at America's boss.

The human seemed reluctant to tell England, or America for that matter. He sighed and shook his head. "No, not really," he answered and then turned to America and said grimly, "Get in the car, son."

America nodded slowly and did as told, hoping that his boss would tell him what was wrong. But he didn't. He stayed quiet. That is, until he knew for sure what he needed to tell America and how to say it.

It took him two years to tell America about what had frightened him so much.

Moscow, Russia. October 23rd 1956

"Gott, Elizabeta." Prussia shook at the sight of her. He had tried to warn her not to do it, but she had always been such a stubborn girl, always thinking she was on the same level as the men, but she wasn't and she just didn't listen.

"Do not worry, she's learned her lesson," Russia said as he looked down at the female nation lain beaten on the bed she had been tossed upon. Turning toward everyone he had gathered in the room to witness her state Russia smiled. "Because of her example I am certain no one will defy me again, da?"

"Da," they all said in unison.

"Good, now, if you excuse me, I have more important matters to attend to than step on another rebellion." With that Russia left and immediately Prussia was at Hungary's side. She hardly looked recognizable and he wondered how the hell a nation could do this to another nation, a female nation at that.

"Liz, Liz!" Prussia cried out and took her hand in his. She hissed at the pain and as he looked down he saw that both her wrists were broken. He pulled his hands away and laid one down softly on her cheek. It was swollen purple along with her bottom lip. Her eye was closed shut, bleeding red and the rest of her limbs . . . Prussia was so glad Russia hadn't taken to chopping off body parts or else Hungary would be in worse condition than she already was.

"If you'd let me take care of her, I can help." Prussia turned to see Ukraine. She looked concerned and sincerely earnest in her request to help but Prussia was angry. So very angry with them.

"Get the fuck away!" Prussia shouted, startling the woman. "You're just like him! You don't care! You want to be here! What kind of sick and twisted country are you anyways? No, no, you're just like him; you're his sister so you're like him!"

"You're wrong," Ukraine said but Prussia continued to spit in her face.

"How?" Prussia asked. "You raised him! He's like this because of YOU!"

"You're wrong!" Ukraine finally snapped back in her own defense. The others there, the other countries, merely watched on in silence. "He was taken from me when he was still very young. Yes, I had gotten to see him, but not for too long and my influence in him was minimal. I don't . . . I don't know how he came to be this way. I don't. I am sorry for all the pain you've been put through and to show it I wish to help her. Please, let me."

"I just want you to leave," Prussia said, his vocals trembling as he shook his head and forced himself between Hungary and the others as if to shield her from danger. "Please, just leave us alone."

The others said nothing as they left. The sight of her was sickening as is and they were glade to leave the room. Ukraine, however was reluctant to leave and if it hadn't been for the voice of her sister then maybe she would have stayed.

"Let them suffer," Belarus said in the doorway. "You've offered so take it back. If they don't want your help then forget them."

Ukraine looked hurt from the rejection but heeded Prussia's wish and left them alone. When the door was shut Prussia let his tears slip. He offered a smile for Hungary even though she couldn't see him, even though she couldn't hear him.

"They're gone, Liz, you don't have to be afraid anymore," Prussia said as he brushed his fingers through his old friend's hair.

Inhaling a sniff Prussia ran his hand through his own hair before looking around the room for something to clean her with. He found a basin and got to work with filling it with warm water. He knew she wouldn't take too kindly for undressing her, but she needed to be cleansed of the blood and grime and to be settled into new clothes.

He's fought thousands of battles and hundreds of wars, if there was one thing Prussia knew how to do, it was how to dress wounds. He expertly wrapped her up and propped what broken limb needed to be propped. When he lifted her arm in a sling overhead he heard her cry out.

"No, no, Liz, calm down, I have to," Prussia explained, shushing her as he pet her head gently.

She cried again as Prussia tied the knot and Prussia cried as well. He cried until his face was red and his fist slammed against the mattress of the worn bed.

"Why the fuck did you do that, Hungary? Why? !" The tears running down Hungary's swollen eyes tore Prussia's heart. He'd seen the others get beaten and he knew that Hungary had seen him beaten by Russia as well, though nothing as bad as this. Hungary had been a good girl and minded her own business, or so Prussia had thought.

He had been taken by surprise by her revolt and in the blink of an eye Russia had stopped her. She tried to escape but he caught her, he found her quicker than she had thought and beat her, he beat her until she was unrecognizable and that's what horrified Prussia. He'd tried to remain calm when the Russian dragged her back into the house but the sight of her made him sick and to keep himself in line he had turn as he dragged her up the stairs toward their rooms.

It wasn't until Russia called every nation he controlled into the room to make an example of her that Prussia looked at her fully. Now, he couldn't stop crying. But he was happy, so very happy that he was here and not his brother. The horrors he'd seen, the horrors he'd taken, he knew his brother was strong, but he knew he'd break much faster than him and so Prussia was glad it had been him Russia took.

He hadn't seen his little brother since the end of the Second World War and wondered how he was fairing. From information he could scavenge he's heard of Germany's economic boom and he was very glad for him. Knowing that Germany wasn't starving and sick made him brim with pride at how fast he'd recovered after the war. Prussia? Not so much.

He was managing, that was all he could say to anyone who asked, to anyone who cared. It's not like he could honestly tell them he was living in hell, getting beaten when the Russian felt like asserting his dominance, going weeks, sometimes months without food, and then there was watching his friends get abused before his very eyes and he was forced to watch or else receive the same punishment. What would anyone do if they found out? Hell, they probably already knew. It's not like they could do anything for him. No one could, not even America.

With the way America was "helping" Asia, yeah, Prussia wouldn't be getting out of Russia's house in a loooong time.

But now that Hungary had gotten this hurt, Prussia could feel his anger welling up inside him. Some of it was for Russia beating her to this point, more was for Hungary being so stupid and trying to defy the Superpower, but most of his anger was directed toward himself for not standing up for Hungary and protecting her. No, he should be the one beaten to near death, not her, not his old friend.

"Why, Liz, why'd you do it?" Prussia asked as he rubbed his scarlet eyes now even more red with his stinging tears. "You knew he'd catch you, you knew what he'd do to you. Yet you still did it. What's wrong with you?"

Prussia pressed his forehead against the mattress and huffed out a sob before he heard her say something. It was faint, but he caught it.

"I . . . had to . . . try."

Prussia's head shot up and he looked at her. Her eye, the right one that hadn't been too badly swollen to shut for long, was open and tears were leaking down bitterly as she stared up at the ceiling. Her swollen lips trembled but they parted to let her words speak.

"I . . . I can't . . . take it . . . Gilbert . . . I hate . . . here . . . I hate . . . him."

Prussia watched Hungary slip into bitter sadness and begin crying horribly. How was he supposed to comfort that? He couldn't. No one could. This was the price they paid for losing the war.

"One day, Liz, one day we'll make it out of here, together, okay," Prussia said, softly touching in her hand again.

"Liar." It hurt to hear that from Hungary, but Prussia had no other words to negate her accusation. "We'll never . . . never leave here. Never."

Prussia felt the sink in his gut. It felt like what she said was true. That, no matter what, they'd be there forever, and ever.

Washington D.C. November 7th 1956

"What . . . did you say?" America asked, his eyes widening and his jaw loosening. He had thought he heard his boss wrong but he knew he hadn't.

Eisenhower sighed and crossed his fingers. He didn't look America in the eyes for this one and his statement actually came out in a mumble. "I said we're beginning work on fallout shelters, mostly for you, America."

"I'm not running!" America bit back with upset, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"I will not have him take you," Eisenhower informed with a slam of his hand on his desk to silence the boy nation. "We're falling behind, Alfred, too far behind. Before long, what's to stop that . . . nation from coming here and taking you away from us? At the summit his leader told me he wanted you. You, Alfred, you. What else do you think that damn well means? No, I won't let them win. You'll be on our top priority list."

"That isn't fair," America said as his fists clenched tight. "I'm the hero, and heroes don't run. It was just a stupid threat, nothing more. Liars, all of them."

When America noticed his unresponsive leader he narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "Do you think me so incapable in defending myself?"

"Against him?" Eisenhower asked as he turned back to look at America. "Yes."

That hurt America. He hadn't been that upset with a boss of his in a long time. He inhaled a quick breath and held it, puffing his chest and stamping his foot down before walking into a pace. "You . . . you . . . so that's why the Strategic Air Command began their 24/7 alert. Don't tell me you're spooked from Sputnik."

"Damn it, Alfred, don't you dare act like you're not!" Eisenhower pointed. "You were close to McCarthy and all of his paranoia is on you now. What are you thinking? Are you thinking I'm Communist like everyone else you pointed out and swore your life on that they were? You think I'm trying to hand you over to Russia? Well I'm sure he'd like that very much. Damn it, boy, I'm not your enemy. I am concerned for you and I only want to protect you."

"There's no way you could hide me," America said, shaking his head slightly. "Not when I'm this involved in the world. The Middle East is on the brink of civil wars, and Asia . . . it's almost gone. I'm not going to even give credit to Russia for that. That was all China." There was silence of thought before America cast his eyes down and smiled. It was a sad smile and his boss rose a curious brow at that. "Why does it feel like I'm the only one fighting them? I know England's trying to be a friend but . . . I just don't care what he has to say sometimes . . . you don't think I think about what will happen to me if Russia invaded? Heh, I think about it all the time, so much so that I can see him everywhere and it frustrates me." America turned his eyes back toward his boss sitting at his desk and frowned. "If I hide he'll think he's won. If you lock me up somewhere underground how will I defend myself when he does come, as you say? You've gotta let me grow stronger. You've gotta let me race him."

Once upon a time Russia told him to face his enemies and to continue to grow and strengthen to do so and so America was going to follow through with his advice. It would help if he had a leader who believed in him. But, the look his President was carrying, it was starting to frighten America and after those wars, he didn't frighten easily.

"But I'm afraid, America," his President admitted with a long sigh.

America wouldn't give up. He couldn't. There was more he could do and he knew it. If his current President didn't believe so then he'd wait for the next one and make sure he'd believe.

Eight days later it was America standing in front of the television unmoving as he watched Russia's boss gloat about their missile superiority. America's lips twitched more down as the camera's angle then focused close to Russia who was sitting next to his boss looking like the proud dictator he was.

"Da, if everyone thinks I'm lying then I dare Amerika to have a _shooting match_. It would be fun, da, Amerika?" Russia was looking at the camera as if he were looking at America. The sick fuck knew he was watching. He knew he was listening, and he knew he was afraid.

America bit out a bark as he slammed his fist into the glass and demolished the screen of the television. He didn't care about the wires sizzling his skin black or the smoke hefting upward out of the box and into his nostrils. America was upset and afraid. He swore to himself that he believed Russia was bluffing, that he was holding the wrong cards, but deep down his gut sunk and sunk until his heart clenched and his stomach churned.

Covering his mouth America about puked from the fright boiling up inside him. Instead he gagged and then leaned back and fell against his bed. A cold sweat prickled him everywhere and now all he could think of was that he needed a shower. So, getting up, he did just that. He spent four hours in the shower, not caring if the water had run cold.

America really felt like he was fighting this Cold War all by himself. Russia wasn't looking at England when he exploded another nuclear bomb. He wasn't smiling for China's cameras as his army expanded as well as his territory. He wasn't addressing any of the others, no, it was America. Why? What had America ever done to him?

Why did Russia have to be so evil? Why, when he used to be in his pleasant dreams, was he turning up in his nightmares? America hated it and he wanted to stay away from Russia. He hated even visiting Alaska because of how close Russia was, and now the issues arising in the Middle East jumbled his brain enough to twist and turn into an image of Russia.

Russia.

Russia.

Soviet Union.

Communists.

USSR.

Communism.

Red.

Red.

Ivan . . .

"Ivan," America sighed out as he pulled himself from the shower and ran his fingers through his wet hair. "Just let me go."

That was all America wanted. He wanted his freedom, but this type was so very hard to fight for.

Moscow, Russia. June 1960

"How are things progressing in Asia, China?" Russia had been ever so kind to invite the Ancient to dinner. His boss wanted closer relations and he dreaded what he wanted after dinner. Yes, he very much liked his new boss, but he was so demanding. Almost as bad as Stalin, he was certain the two were related souls.

"What does it matter? I'm handling it," China said as he stabbed at his food for his fork. He wouldn't even look at Russia which perturbed the large nation.

"It matters because I am curious," Russia said, his tone more demanding as he politely set his silverware down next to his plate and left his half-eaten meal alone. "You will tell me, da?"

"You don't care!" China accused and suddenly Russia watched the nation snap at him. The country slammed his silverware down hard, hitting the side of his plate and leaving a loud echo to ring throughout the quiet room. "Who is the one talking to these countries to make them revolt against the Westerners? Me! Who is the one offering alliances and aid and _men_? Me! Whose people are dying to help them pull free of the Western world? Mine! You do nothing, Russia. Yet all I hear about is yours and America's struggles. Where is mine? Why doesn't anyone see that it is me fighting, not you?"

"I offer help enough," Russia said with a thin frown as he straightened his form in his chair. "Arms, intelligence, tanks, ammunition. So you want my dead as well?"

"Why not?" China asked, crossing his arms. "I'm the one who's always losing, not you. My men die, more so if the revolt fails, but you, all you do is lose a little money. It's not fair."

Russia hadn't meant to smile so sinister, but apparently it came out like that as China's eyes widened and his brow arched. "But, China, you have so many to spare." It wasn't the best choice of words for Russia to use but he felt it was true, and China knew it as well.

"Niǎo rén!" China shouted as he jumped over the table and took a hold of Russia's scarf and shook him; well, to his best attempt.

Russia smiled at his honest attempt to strangle him; China's gotten stronger since his civil war, but not as strong as Mother Russia. Russia took a hold of the Chinese man's torso and slammed him down on the table. China groaned at the toss but as he looked up at Russia he glared hate-filled silent curses at him.

"Come now, we're friends, da? We should stop fighting right away," Russia said, pulling out his smile as he leaned over China and then reached up to stroke his cheek. China quickly slapped his caressing hand away and scooted away from Russia to get out from underneath him.

"I know you, Russia. You don't care what happens to me. You don't care how many men I lose, how much land I have to cede to the conquerors, how I'm treated by my bosses . . ." China's face was going red with rage and the small thing's entire body shook in upset.

"That is not true, we are allies," Russia assured.

"My people hate you! I had to get on my knees and beg my boss to accept your terms and the only reason he did was because we were alone," China spat out. "I should have known you'd betray me. You already had from the start."

"You are upsetting me," Russia almost sing-songed through his smiling lips. He never took well to threats, especially from so-called allies. He could tell by China's stance that the country was challenging him and it took all Russia had to not laugh at the poor display of attempted dominance.

"That's the first emotion I've evoked out of you," China stated with a hard stare. "Well I shall just reciprocate your concern for your state—which is none! I am the power in Asia. It is me who's spreading Communism, and it is me defeating America!"

Russia opened his eyes and frowned. America, be defeated by a pathetic nation like China? There was no chance in hell. America was losing because of Russia's intelligence, because of Russia's generals who gave the damned Chinese battle plans, because of Russia's spies in the U.S.A. Because of Russia who confronted the nation and frightened him into submissive. That was why China was "winning" and it was all Russia. No one could tell him otherwise.

"What would you do all by yourself, China?" Russia asked, his anger rising in his tone. "You'd be nothing without me, nothing! Use your own technology, use your own agents for intelligence gathering, go ahead. Use everything _Chinese_. You know you'd be using nothing but fucking sticks and stones."

China gapped at Russia's insult. Even so, that didn't get him to back down like Russia had wanted and if he didn't stop soon then Russia would have to get physical.

China chuckled and then smirked as if he knew something Russia didn't. Russia narrowed his eyes at him as China pointed to him and said, "You play tough but you're nothing. When was the last time you committed actual troops to a war? What's this? Is it because you don't want to get into a war with little America? Why? Who gives a shit if you do? Blow the whole world up is it? That's a fucking pathetic excuse and we all know it!"

Russia ground his teeth together tightly by the sway of his jaw. How had China's attitude toward him and his people gone unnoticed for so long? Russia's given the nation everything to rise to the top ranks of nations and this is how he was repayed?

"I know why you'll talk but not play, it's because you're sick. You're fucking obsessed with him!" China accused and Russia's nostrils flared in an attempt to calm his temper as it rose with the more China poked at him. "I saw your eyes on him all the time in the second World War. You wouldn't look at anyone else. The only time you even looked at me was when America did as well. What he wanted, you wanted just so he couldn't have it. Whatever he was for, you were against. You were like some damn child begging for attention through brutality.

"You'd whisper his name in your sleep while you held me. You couldn't even get hard for me without medication! You didn't want me, you never did. You wanted him. How long? I don't give a damn. But you've wanted him for a long time and so the very second he goes and attaches himself to a country you send me, ME, to break them up via revolt. You don't like it because he refuses to look at you because he hates you. Stop playing games, _Ivan_, and just go and rape him. That's what you want, right? Then stop acting like you have some sense of moral when it comes to him and go do what you have to for your ideals, for your people!"

Russia's fists were shaking tightly against his sides as he stood there and took China's accusations. Not all of them were true, but a majority . . . there was no way China knew Russia as well as he thought. Not a chance.

When China smirked at the state he put Russia in the Asian chuckled and laxed his form just slightly. "Alright," he said with a nod. "Well, if you're content with watching then be my guest. I'm sure you'll enjoy it as I conquer Asia, as I bring America to his knees, strip him bare, and fuck him raw."

Russia's eyes flashed dark with rage. He inhaled a deep breath and realized he had let go of his restraint long ago.

"Amerika is mine, you little shit!" Russia spat which upset him seeing how China narrowed his eyes and smiled even wider, like he had wanted this reaction.

"So I was right," China said with a nod. "Of course I was." With a deepening frown China turned to leave. Before leaving fully he turned back to Russia and offered him an easy smile as if his statement would assure him of no harm done. "Don't worry, old _friend_, if you want I won't force him. I'm certain you wouldn't like that. No, I'll wait until he's out of all that money he gloats over and then . . ." China held his finger ups to his lips as if in brilliant thought. "Then when he comes to me begging for funds I'll be gracious and give him enough to sustain him and his economy, but of course I'll require his _services_ for the offer. Yes, that's a nice thought; he'll _willingly_ give himself to me because of what I can offer him, because he _needs_ me. And you'll still be you . . . just watching . . . pathetic."

China left. Russia shouldn't have let the Asian say that to him. He should have said something in return. He was the Soviet Union. He had started Communism and he had spread it. How DARE China think him to be better in any way? If it wasn't for Russia then China would be a slave again to England and France, as well as America.

"GAH!" Russia cried out as he flipped over the large oak dining table. It had crashed into the wall and shattered a few lamps as well as splitting the thing in half. He didn't care how expensive that piece of furniture was, he'd destroy more things if he wanted to.

He was upset over China's words and insults but more so at himself for not standing up for himself. Since when had he become such a pushover? First North Korea had given him a piece of her mind and now China? Who did these countries think they were?

Russia was tired of standing still. If all it took China to fear him was for him to face him in a war then he could. Russia chuckled. He supposed China had already entered a war with him; a war once dueled between him and America.

"Welcome to the Cold War, China. I hope you can keep up," Russia said as he looked out a window and up toward the shining stars and then toward that round, round moon.

Washington D. C. May 25th 1961

"We're going for the moon this time, Alfred. All the way."

America turned toward his new leader, a leader he was very fond of since his election this year. He was outgoing and not afraid to let America race, just the man he'd been praying for. There was only slight surprise on America's face before he busted out in a wide grin.

"Seriously, dude? You're the best!" America said as he ran up to the man and embraced him tightly. The President chuckled before he patted for America to let go so he wasn't crunched in two in the next second. "Sorry," America apologized as he let go. "So the moon, huh?"

"That's right," Kennedy said with a nod as they stared up at the glowing orb in the night sky. "But this is just between you and me, alright, Alfred?"

America smirked. "Let Russia find out. There's no way he'll be able to catch me. Not this time. You're loosening the leash and I'm going to run at full speed."

"Good, that's what I wanted," America's boss said with a wink before turning back to the moon. "God . . . I can't wait to see it. I know you won't disappoint me."

"I'll tape the entire thing," America said. "We'll broadcast it throughout the world. Hey, can I claim the moon as my territory?"

Kennedy chuckled. "Now slow down, kid. I don't know how that would blow over seeing how you can't just keep it from the world if you want to. We all need the moon."

"So," America said, puffing his cheeks and crossing his arms. "Not gonna stop me from claiming it."

There was another chuckle and then a silence. America was about to spark up another conversation because his boss always enjoyed talking to him, but this time he spoke up first.

"America," he addressed, using his country name meant something serious was about to come afoot. America paid close attention to his President's tone of voices, sway of body, and gestures and motions. "There's something I want you to do for me."

"What is it, boss man?" America asked with a bright smile that his new boss loved seeing. While his older one had thought about hiding America from the world his new one continuously showed him off in pride and made sure the entire planet knew the exact contour of his face.

"I want you to go to Europe for me to check on things," Kennedy said. "Preferably Germany."

America frowned at the thought of the country. He was doing well as of late, but America had been so busy in Asia and with helping South Korea grow a little more that he had all but neglected Germany. England and France watched over him closely and they kept him updated on the man's status. Nothing new so he didn't understand why his boss wanted him to go there. The crisis's were over without America's need to appear so, honestly, his presence really wasn't required.

"I'm going to Vienna this week . . . I'm meeting with Mr. Khrushchev," Kennedy informed.

"What?" America asked as he took a step forward. "Then . . . then let me come with you. Let me stand firm beside you so he can see me, just like you've wanted."

"No," Kennedy persisted as he turned to his nation and eyed him sternly. "You will do as you're told and go to Germany's home."

"But . . . Russia will be there. I'm sure of it!" America exclaimed.

"Yes, he probably will," Kennedy said. "He'll be there because he'll think you'll be there. I won't give him the satisfaction in threatening you again."

"So you want to hide me too," America mumbled as he cast his eyes down in disappointment.

"You're wrong." America looked back up to his boss who offered him an encouraging smile before letting out a sigh and frowning. "I'm sending you to Germany because the Russians are building a wall."

"A wall?" America questioned. "Where?"

"Straight through Berlin," Kennedy informed.

"What? !" America bit his lip to keep himself from shouting all of the things he wanted to say about the Communists. Without further explanation America nodded in understanding.

"Keep things safe," Kennedy ordered.

"Yes, sir," America said with a salute before leaving with a heavy mind.

Vienna, Austria. June 4th 1961

"Where is that handsome country of yours, Mr. Kennedy?" Khrushchev asked with an easy smile as he leaned back in his seat while America's new President continued to sit upright, just like Khrushchev's country next to him.

"Thank-you for that compliment, Mr. Khrushchev. We try to keep him as well-groomed as possible. The television demands it these days," Kennedy joked.

"Da, it does," Khrushchev said with his own offered laugh but it was ended too quickly. Kennedy knew he wanted his question answered, he could see it in his too quickened frown.

"I had him run some errands. He's a good boy, always does what he's told," Kennedy once again bragged as if America were his own child. This time there was no laughter, a smile here and there maybe but other than that it was quiet.

Kennedy hadn't wanted America there so he could check on the status of that wall. He didn't think they'd begun building it yet, but he knew they were in preparation to so America could map out the width and expanse of the project in peace without worrying about Russia's whereabouts. Kennedy was looking at the country who smiled at him through fake grins. At least he was there with them and not seeking out America.

From what the previous President had told him, the country had some sort of obsession with his nation to the point where the Russian leader had threatened Mr. Eisenhower over taking America away from his own people. Who had the nerve to do that? Who? Kennedy certainly wouldn't back down like Eisenhower did. Kennedy would fight for his country.

"Well, it's a shame," Russia suddenly spoke up and Kennedy found himself in awe at the deep baritone voice of the nation despite his child-like grin. That grin quickly faded and Kennedy watched as the nation shifted from deceiving innocence to battle-experienced tyrant right before his very eyes, his threatening glare matching that of his leader's. "A nation amongst mere humans is no fun at all. What a waste of time."

Russia got up, excused himself from the summit, and left. Kennedy wished he had stayed. He wanted to keep him entertained and away from seeking out America who was now closer to home. He knew he would do just that when he left and so sighed in defeat at his failed attempt to keep the nation occupied in conversation. At least he verified Eisenhower's accusations of the nation's interests and it terrified Kennedy.

He didn't know why a country like Russia would even care for a country like his, especially a country in a silent war with his. He felt Eisenhower didn't fully understand either. Well, like Khrushchev, Kennedy wanted to take the country aside in private and speak to him but Kennedy feared he didn't have enough wits ends for that. He had so many questions so perhaps he could get a chance to speak to Khrushchev about this and find a way to weasel out answers.

Berlin, Germany. Mid October 1961

"Feel good to get your hands dirty again, huh, Germany?" America noted as he leaned over the Volkswagen that the German nation was currently working on, with his elbows deep in the engine of the vehicle. The nation didn't respond to America but the Superpower continued, "Work always helps ease the troubles of life away, am I right?"

Again, Germany remained quiet and unresponsive. America frowned at the behavior and so did what he usually did to get someone's attention: he shoved his face into their line of sight. Leaning over, America looked into Germany's face, their eyes met for a brief moment before Germany turned away and walked over toward his tool chest on a work bench near the car.

"Hey, come on, man, I'm trying to be friendly," America complained as he stalked the blond. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. The least you could say is, 'Recovering fine, America,' or, 'Work is plentiful thanks to the boomin' economy, America!' Stop giving me the cold shoulder."

But that is what America got. The younger didn't want to feel threatened and so he didn't press for Germany to answer. With an aggravated sigh America threw his arms in the air in defeat. He could at least tell the others he tried since they insisted he go and talk to the silent robot.

Before America left the garage he turned back to Germany and sighed softer, his shoulders slumping and his eyes glancing away for a moment before focusing back on the German's form. "I know you're jaw's healed. You can talk if you want to." Germany remained still, sifting through his tool box, his back still turned to America. "I'm upset that you won't talk to me, but, hey . . . I guess I'm used to it by now."

America left without caring to glance back to see Germany turning toward him and watching his departure. It wasn't like it was just America he wouldn't talk to. He hadn't spoken a word to anyone, not to England, not to France . . . not even to his own people. He communicated through letters but that was about it. America didn't know why he remained silent and he couldn't help but think it was the war, what else could it be?

Walking by the construction of the wall day by day didn't help. America didn't like the sight of the ugly thing. The noise also upset Germany as far as he could tell. Germany wouldn't leave his garage as long as they worked on it, when it was silent then he would come out and return to his Berlin home. America usually waited for the workers to leave the wall and then would follow Germany home, trying and trying to coax him into a conversation.

Germany did not refuse him entrance into his home nor would he refuse him food or something to drink but the silence was getting to America. So much so that he enjoyed the sound of the construction. They were almost done now and when they finished America would return home because the silence would drive him crazy. German's silence that is.

Returning back to the embassy, America met England and France.

"Still not talking?" England asked as he placed his teacup down on the plate and looked up at the American.

America opened his mouth to say something but instead closed his lips and simply shook his head in answer.

"Just leave him alone," France bade from his lounge couch. "He was like this before, but as long as he's working then he won't be starting any more wars."

"The least he could do is say something to me after all I've done for him," America muttered as he shrugged off his coat and hung it up on a rack.

"I'm sorry to say this, lad, but Germany did this all on his own," England informed. "By all rights he doesn't have to offer a, 'thank-you,' of any kind."

"I protect him from Russia," America reminded, his tone straining as England flat out accused him of doing nothing to help Germany and his people.

"Oui, we all do," France corrected.

"No, you don't," America said and his retort surprised the two. He had been solemn and quiet for the most part of his stay in Berlin except when it came to trying to get Germany to speak, but when speaking to France and England he was polite and of course obnoxious. This time, his tone was harsh and accusing. "_I'm_ the one who's facing Russia in the East and his damn partners. _I'm_ the one shoving back against his antics in the Middle East. _I'm_ the one who's racing him to the stars. Me, and me alone. You two asses are just sitting there watching it all. Sure you'll accept my missiles but what if I told you to shoot them? What if I told you to bomb Moscow? Could I even count on you to go through with it? You're my friends, aren't you? Well why the hell don't I feel like you have my back? !"

"Calm down, America," England said, looking rather upset with America's accusations and tone of voice. "This is not the appropriate time nor the place to talk about things like these."

"No time is ever 'appropriate,' England. You guys shake at the thought of a nuclear war. You're fucking cowards," America said, pointing at both of them who stared at him like wide-eyed parents. "I say bring it on. I've got the goods and I sure as hell can deliver. So what, screw humanity. We've all gotta go eventually."

"What has gotten into you?" England asked, gapping like a fish wiggling for air. "In all my years—you'd never treat someone like how you're treating me and France."

"Well, maybe if you two start acting like friends then I wouldn't feel so frustrated?" America said and then looked outside. He could see the wall from where he stood. Pointing back, America snickered. "Germany hates that wall, ya know. Hell, I love it." He heard both of them gasp but ignored their concerning gazes anyway. "Keeps the Commies out and it's easy to defend. I just wished I had been the one to think of it sooner."

"You don't . . . really mean that, do you?" England inquired with concern. "You realize Germany's upset because now he can never see his brother—not so much as a glance."

"You don't think I already know that?" America asked, his attitude waning, it had run its steam off already. And with America's bipolar attitude as of late it was disturbing to his allies. With a heavy sigh America's shoulders slumped and he glanced down. France and England had now seen America like they had never before—tired. "What else am I supposed to do? What, start a war with Russia just so Germany and Prussia can be united again? They lost. That's their price to pay."

"Now I understand why Germany won't talk to you," France noted with a sad sigh.

"What did you say, French Fry?" America growled, raising his fists. France rose his hand in apology but by his facial expression he hadn't been sorry for saying that. He simply shook his head and sighed once more.

"My point proven," France said. "You are insensitive, mon cher. When was the last time you cared, truly cared, about what happened to another country besides yourself?"

"Oh, so my involvement in the Korean War and, and—what's next, Vietnam's war?—the Middle East, Taiwan," America rose a finger for every subject, "What was that? Nothing? Did I not care?"

"Did you care about saving them from their miseries or just beating Russia?" France asked, being oddly insightful that usually fell to England.

America darted back as if he was struck. He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it. He tried once more and then closed his lips before he looked toward England. "Are you going to let him treat me like some warmonger?"

England shrugged his shoulders. "Shouldn't offend you if you're not," he reasoned.

America was clearly offended. His teeth grit and his fists shook. He thought Germany's company was horrible. These two; they were the worst.

Pointing at the both of them, America said, "What . . . are you on his side now?"

"Now none of us ever said tha—"

"Shut up, England!" America spat before continuing, "He's doing this on purpose, I know he is. He's . . . he's taking away everyone I ever cared for and turning them against me like . . . like I'm the bad guy! He's even doing it to you two!"

"Of come off it," England broke in and wove America off. "You're far too paranoid. You know that?"

"I wouldn't have to be if I wasn't a damn Superpower with no one on my side!" America bit back.

Like the experienced parents they were both England and France remained quiet to let America cool his temper by throwing his hysterical tantrum. With his shoulders slumped both knew he was eventually coming down from his paranoia driven anger only to replace it with what looked like depression.

"Am I so bad?" America asked, and France and England wondered if he were asking them or himself. "Korea wishes we had never met . . . Vietnam . . . God she can hardly write to me but what she does send out are letters explaining how she's being beaten by her bosses because of their hate for me and for her affections toward . . . Yong Soo . . . it'll be a miracle if he even stays close to me with how dangerous it is around his home, and now Germany won't even talk to me." America looked down as if his heart had been broken all over again.

Now France and England knew his troubled heart. He hadn't meant a word he had said previously but it had been the only way to release his frustrations. It had been wrong of him and it had made him seem like a selfish brat but after his forced maturity it was understandable. Not acceptable but understandable.

After a little while of watching America pity himself England finally couldn't take it anymore and deemed it safe to approach him. Coming close he reached out and managed to lay his hand on America's shoulder, near his neck. America looked at him and stared at him with sad confused eyes.

All England could do was offer him words of advice.

"It isn't easy ruling the world, Alfred. You'll always have more enemies than friends—a majority of them being proclaimed allied friends. You have no other choice but to press on and lock your heart away so you can never get hurt."

America bit his lip and shook his head in understanding. He looked like a confused and albeit reluctant child. England had never wished this fate on his oldest simply because he knew of the struggles and especially the heartbreak.

"What did I ever do to him, England?" America asked, looking at England in desperation for the answer.

England truly pitied him with a sad sigh. America had a lot to learn about being the leader of the world. Did England believe he could do it? Hell no. England wanted America to put a few more centuries on, at least a millennium would do him good. He was a baby compared to the world; much too young to be taken seriously, but he was the only nation left besides Russia with enough strength to fight for the title. Even though England didn't wish it he knew as well as France, Germany, Denmark, and the rest that America needed to be on the top because if he wasn't then Russia . . . England would rather not think about a world under Russia's rule.

"Press on, lad," England encouraged. "Know that nothing Russia could say or do would set me against you."

Surprising to both France and England, America let out a chuckle. Baffled, England pressed for the reason of its occurrence.

"Sorry," America offered, a smile making its way to his lips. "But it really wouldn't matter if you did turn against me. I can still kick your ass from London to Tokyo and back."

"Why you ungrateful conceded prick!" England spat and then proceeded to name all of the times he'd helped the young nation, from telling him how to brush his teeth to how he aided him in battle countless times. America just laughed it off but France cringed at the sound of it. It was a cover for America's turmoil and England was too upset to catch it.

France honestly wished he could do more for the boy but he had no power in him. America would have to mature quickly to face all of those challenges flying his way. If not then France would see it happen to him like countless others . . . America would be destroyed, and destroyed until there was no trace of his existence left.

Many a powerful nation met their demise this way and France didn't wish it upon America, but Russia . . . France knew the nation would wipe him off the face of the earth. Why he hadn't yet was beyond France and he knew that in time he would come to understand why Russia hadn't when before the large nation wouldn't hesitate to decimate the competition. It was curious yet a frightening thing all together.

The sounds of shouting stopped England and America's arguing fit. Immediately the three recognized it to be the guards. America was the first to race outside toward the wall where the East German guards had stopped one of his delegates.

"Hey!" America called out, pushing himself closer to the wall in defense of his diplomat. "What the hell's going on here?"

His man told him the issue of the problem at hand and when America turned to the guards he narrowed his eyes. "He's got a pass, so let him pass."

The guards were unnerved by America's presence and aura but something else more frightening kept them in spot. America saw this and nodded.

"Fine, fine, you want to play it that way?" America turned and hopped into his diplomat's car before taking control of the steering wheel and driving off.

"What's he up to now?" England asked.

"It cannot be good," France replied and sure enough the Frenchman was right.

America returned, this time with ten tanks and an array of troops, all well-equipped if a battle broke out.

"America!" England gasped as the tanks rolled by. "What are you doing? !"

But England's cry was unheard. France hadn't even bothered and so turned to England and offered their chance to escape. England scoffed at his cowardice and shook his head. "I'm not leaving him when he's like this!" With that England ran off after America and his tank squadron.

The shouting and noise from the trucks and tanks disrupted Germany's thoughts more so than the construction noise from the wall. He was quick to come out of his garage with a gun in hand. The moment he was spotted by his men they came and told him all that had happened. He nodded in understanding before motioning them to spread out and take positions in case the situation took a turn for the worst.

Jogging up closer Germany came up to France. The man turned to look at him before he looked down at the gun in his hand. France threw his hands up in the air and turned on his heel to leave. He had wanted no part of this beginning of World War Three. So Germany walked closer and this time he came next to England.

"That damn boy's going to start a war," England bit out with his arms crossed as he observed the scene before him but Germany did notice the gun tucked close to his side so he at least would back America up if things really did get out of hand.

"Now, all Mr. Lightner wanted to do was see one of your measly little operas," America said as he leaned down on the barrel of the tank pointed at the wall where the guards stood mortified. America's smile was turning into something like Russia's and Germany and England were uncertain with what to think of it. "He's got tickets and everything," America continued. "Right, Mr. Lightner?"

The American diplomat looked pale at the scene before him and simply nodded quickly, agreeing with whatever his country said. America let out a sigh and turned back to the human guards who looked about ready to piss themselves.

"Now, can't you let a guy enjoy a play?" America asked all too sweetly.

The men said nothing.

America's eyes narrowed in anger and his smile vanished instantly as he slammed his hand against the armor of his tank. "I'm tired of no one speaking back to me! What's the matter with you guys? Can't speak fucking English? !"

The men had the gall, the audacity to shake their heads. America chuckled. He let out a loud chuckle and about keeled over in a fit of laughter that increasingly disturbed England and Germany as well as his men. But, all too quickly America had jumped down off of the tank and was upon the guards in the blink of an eye with the barrel of his gun pressing forcefully against the closest one's forehead. The man turned paler than he already was and from the darkening of his pants it was safe to say the man's resolve was gone.

"Then why the fuck are you patrol guards? !" America muttered lowly and pressed his pistol harder against the man's skull. He smirked at the others pointing their guns at him. Please, as if guns from a human would hurt him. Not now, especially not now.

"It's because they speak very good Russian."

America froze as well as everyone else. The voice floated through the air with ease before weighing down on those who knew the familiarity of its tone.

"Dammit, no," England gasped, frozen in spot while Germany quickly moved himself closer to America's side. He had made it to the front of America's tank before turning to his right to see a group of Soviet tanks come barreling down the road and pointing their nozzles at them.

His lightning blue eyes turned quickly to watch as Russia himself stepped through the passage of the wall. Behind him came a decent amount of soldiers with guns held high and all pointing at America.

"It is good to see you again, Amerika," Russia said with that smile of his.

America remained still for a moment before pulling his gun away and flipping it back into its holster before shoving the human back toward Russia. "Your guards are fucking piss-pants."

Russia dodged the man and allowed his men to catch him. With a playful grin he looked back toward America. "Da, then I shall have them removed."

America let out a sigh before turning around and walking back to his tank and then turning back to lean against the breast of it, Germany was only a foot away from his side. "Are you going to let my guy in or what?"

"I'm afraid I don't even know what the problem is," Russia replied innocently as he motioned to their two tank squadrons.

America sucked in a breath through his teeth to calm his anger and his trembling nerves before he met Russia's gaze and held it for as long as he could. To everyone's surprise America was the first to break contact and everyone wondered if it was because Russia was more frightening or if America just refused to look at him.

"They wouldn't let my diplomat into East Germany. He's got a pass and all he wants to do is see a play. Now you're stupid guards didn't understand him and wouldn't let him pass," America stated with a downward glare through his glasses lenses.

"Is that all?" Russia asked. He then observed the scene before them again. With a smile he looked at America and chuckled. "Why must we always point guns at each other, Fredka?" The cute little nickname always antagonized a humorous reaction out of the boy nation and so Russia would use it as often as he'd like.

The American's dark blond brows knit together before lowering. His vibrant blue eyes took a shade for the darker and, dare Russia say, threatening.

"I don't know," America quipped up sarcastically. "Why do you always have to be a jackass?"

Russia responded with his infamous smile. "My territory, my rules."

"My man doesn't mean any harm," America protested.

"Why would I take a Capitalist's word?" Russia asked with an easy shrug of his shoulders.

America scoffed, crossing his arms and turning his gaze away from the nation to settle the boil in his blood and the twitch in his trigger finger. He wasn't holding his weapon and neither was Russia but their men were and if they so thought it a command of fire could be ordered and a fight, no, a war could break out.

"Come on, Russia, you know me," America said, this time his tone was softer and his approaching using the means of memory to prove his point.

Russia inwardly sighed. He knew America wanted no harm but his boss had given him strict orders to remain dominant—at least in public. Grinding his teeth together in thought, Russia turned to his men and waved them down. Turning back he watched as a look of relief washed over America's features. He hadn't wanted a struggle either but Russia would have to tell his people otherwise so he wouldn't look weak and compromising to the likes of him in front of them.

In an instant America's mood changed. "Thanks a million, Russia." Turning he waved his own men down and even Germany who was still standing close to America lowered his gun.

Hopping off the tank America approached Russia as his men escorted America's diplomat through the wall. All this for a play; damn, that'd better be a good opera. "If you don't mind, I'd like to see him through," America said.

Russia said nothing and his silence meant approval apparently as America took his stand next to his man to walk through the gate. Before he even moved he felt a tug on his sleeve. Turning America looked to see Germany, his fingers wrapped gently around his elbow in cautious warning. Russia had caught sight of it as well and narrowed his eyes at the German.

"Oh," America was surprised Germany was looking at him, much less touching him. Still, he became business and pulled out a smile and a thumbs-up. "Hey, it'll be okay, Germany. Plus, Russia's not going to do anything. I trust him." It was a lie, both listening countries knew it but America made it sure sound convincing. "Right, Russia?" America turned back to Russia with a bright smile that the larger nation knew for a fact was as fake as it could get, just like his own.

Before Russia responded his and Germany's gazes met and the USSR became annoyed at the threatening look in the defeated nation's gaze. As if he could offer such a threat to him. It was insulting.

"Da," Russia offered through a frown as he turned and followed the diplomat through. He heard America mutter a, "Wait for me." No doubt to the silent German before his footfall fell behind Russia to catch up.

Upon walking through the wall and blocking the West's view Russia turned and pushed America up against the thick concrete wall where he and his men surrounded the nation, his men having raised their weapons in threat. America seemed surprised for a moment before narrowing his gaze at the men and their pointed guns, his aura began radiating off of him to the point the Russian soldiers wavered, even amongst their nation.

"Leave," Russia commanded, not taking his eyes off of the upset Westerner who was pinned against the wall and Russia's large frame.

Russia's men didn't question him and did as they were told. When they left, Russia's smile broadened as he leaned in close and America leaned back as much as the wall would let him. Huh, Russia remembered a time when the boy would do the opposite.

"I missed you at the summit, huh, Fredka," Russia said softly in that child-like voice of his as he reached up and let the knuckle of his index finger caress the side of America's pretty face. America didn't seem to like the touch and so jerked away. With a frown Russia said, "Don't think I don't know what you're doing." It came out normally, the Russian not fearing for anyone overhearing over the wall because of the sound of jeep engines and tank tracks. One thing Russia did know though, was that the German nation had good ears and Russia just didn't feel like facing him if he came leaping over the wall to America's aide. Though he inwardly dared him. He'd defeated him before and he could do so effortlessly again. "Trying to turn Europe into Little Amerika will not settle. I will not have it," Russia informed in a light tone though his own aura was anything but light as it clashed with America's.

"I told you before, Russia, that I don't intend to do that," America informed as he stretched his neck out and upped his chin in show of dominance, something Russia longed to break. "Besides, why do you care? You get East, we get West."

Russia chuckled before leaning in closer than he already was. America could not pull himself away this time and that uneasy look in his eyes aroused Russia.

"You should know by now, padsOlnukh, that I can't settle for just the East." Pressing his lips to the shell of America's ear, Russia breathed out hotly. "I want it all."

America remained silent as Russia leaned over him, pulling his head back to grin at him dangerously with glowing amethyst eyes. When a gloved hand reached up to gently press against America's cheek Russia watched and felt the younger flinch away once again but his hand only followed and then his other joined, cradling the boy's head, tilting it up to look at him.

"Everything," Russia whispered while his fingers subconsciously played with the ends of America's golden locks behind his ears. "My house is finally big enough to house all of the nations. I will give everyone food, clothing, warmth, beds to lay their heads on. All I ask in return is the world's worship."

Russia had thought America would voice his thoughtful opinions by now. He usually always did so, but he was ever quiet, glaring at him with a dangerous look that Russia felt the need to replace.

"The invitation extends to you as well, Fredka," Russia said as he leaned closer and rubbed the rip of his nose against Alfred's cheek. The boy wiggled in his grasp at the gesture but Russia's hold simply tightened to restrict his movement further. He could tell America was trying to be polite about it. Russia knew he could give him a run for his money and struggle to be freed but he was still for a majority as if letting Russia have his way with him and be done with it.

"There is even a place for a capitalist pig in my home," Russia informed, meeting the Western nation's gaze. "In my bed, warming me as I sleep, and as I seek your body's warmth." Pressing an opened-mouthed kiss to America's jaw turned the American nation rigid. "I would make you my mate if only you'd conform to me," Russia continued and this time he leaned down, pressing a drawn-out kiss to America's neck. He could feel his pounding pulse beat against his lips and Russia smiled. "My boss will agree to whatever I say, though I can tell he doesn't like you and your ideals, neither does my people," Russia stated as he leaned up and this time pressed a kiss to the underside of America's chin. "But I will give you mercy and spare you from destruction if only you'd return my kindness, accept my ways, lay under me."

Quiet as ever, Russia took this as a sign to continue. His gloved fingers danced across America's flawless face, skimming annoyingly over the glasses before touching underneath those beautiful eyes and then down his cheek before Russia's thumb rubbed just underneath America's bottom lip, easing his jaw slack and parting his lips just slightly, but it was enough.

Leaning down once again, this time Russia pressed his lips against America's. While his first priority was the seduction to Communism, when their lips met, the memories of their once love erupted into Russia's mind. Images long forgotten, that hurt just to remember, was dancing before Russia's eyes. There they were, the two of them . . . in Sitka . . . in Tientsin . . . in Peking. Their touches, their kisses, their passion—Russian longed to rekindle that flame even if he transformed America into something he no longer was. He wanted him to be beside him. He needed to hold him . . . to make love to him.

Russia could no longer control his body as it pressed closer, shoving America into the wall as his tongue pressed past unmoving lips and tasted him again after nearly sixty years. This wasn't like how he seduced China, North Korea, or Syria. No, this was the opposite. America was seducing him and Russia knew he had to pull away before it was too late.

If this was some game America was playing then Russia would meet it with equal challenge. His pounding heart threw itself over and over against his chest and Russia blamed America, his sunflower. He wasn't even moving and yet he was affecting Russia like this. What a pig . . . just like a Capitalist.

Just as an early November wind chilled its way to their heat Russia darted his head back. Lips parted in shock as his eyes narrowed down at the blood on his leather gloves as he brought them away from his mouth.

America had bitten him.

Hard violet eyes turned back to America who had his teeth bare like the snarl of an animal. Russia's very blood dripped down his chin and Russia saw red. The jealously of his boss, of his people . . . it all rushed into the nation and he struck the blond. Knocked him to the ground.

Instead of his hands holding his sunflower flush against his body they were now wrapped around his slender neck, nails digging in deep, and the crunching sound of Alfred's vertebras music to Russia's ears.

After all Russia had offered to him he was rejected. Protection, a place by his side . . . America didn't want it. He was offered more than anyone else and yet Russia wasn't good enough for him. He never was, was he? America had even stopped them from consummating their relationship back then. Now Russia understood why.

"You think you can resist me, Amerika? !" Russia looked at the nation. The younger could barely stand on his own feet because of how weak his knees were. Those eyes were closed tight and the sound of his choking wheezed through his grit teeth while his hands pulled at Russia's unmoving hands around his throat. "I am a Superpower. More powerful than even you!" Russia wrung America with a harsh shake, watching as his eyes struggled to open to meet gazes. "Look at me!" Russia demanded, squeezing harder. It worked. America's trembling eyes met Russia's dominating gaze.

If someone would have told Russia a hundred years ago that he'd be doing this to America; strangling the life out of him, then he would have laughed if not possibly killed the one who dared accuse him of doing such a thing to the one he loved with all his heart.

"I have won," Russia informed and then he laughed, like a madman, just like America. "I have the most devastating weapon. It has been a fun game, but I am victor, Amerika."

He knew America could feel his strength. The pathetic nation couldn't even pull his hands from around his throat he was that weak. His gaze even left his and turned to the left . . . where the west side was . . . where Germany was. No, America could no call out to him. Russia was stronger. If America needed protection then he'd look to him, beg for him only.

"Look what you do to me, Amerika!" Russia squeezed again, causing America's wide gaze to return to him like it should always be. "Look at me!"

America closed his eyes, his jaw prying open to attempt to take in air. Russia saw his chance. Leaning down he pressed his tongue inside America's mouth again and let him drink him—drink the blood he spilt. Russia was risking a terrible war and he knew it, but he would win if came to that and he knew it.

Pulling back, Russia watched the nation choke on his blood like it was a poison.

"Say something, Amerika," Russia bade and wondered how long it would take for the nation to faint. "This is your fault. What else am I to do? My people hate you and in so they hate my affection for you. Say something to me!"

Russia needed to know America felt the same. That his love hadn't faded. He needed reassurance to quell the fear of his people's hate of him. He loved America. Always.

That flawless skin, those beautiful eyes, that luscious hair, it was all seducing Russia away from the Red and what horrified yet satisfied Russia the most was that he wanted to escape from the Red, from his bosses, his people.

America opened his eyes. His blue standing in contrast to the red in his eyes as vessels popped and painted the white sclera. He opened his mouth and moved his lips. Russia's heart stopped beating as the nation somehow managed to speak despite the strangulation.

"Yeah . . . too bad for you."

A weight crushed Russia's spirit and without knowing he had let go of America, the smaller falling to the ground and coughing for breath. Without another word Russia turned and left, his body dragging him away from the feel of the sharp shattering pieces of his heart. He didn't even look back to see the tears in the American's eyes, the ones falling down for the same reason as his own.

Reaching up, Russia looked at the moisture on his gloves. He can't remember the last time he had cried. Would this time be the last? How many times could his broken heart break? How could America be so cruel to him?

It didn't matter. All that did was the distance Russia needed to place between himself and America. As far as it could be.

Just like that, Russia was gone. America inhaled a shaking breath and attempted to stand to his feet. His knees buckled after several attempts before America forced himself up, leaning against the wall. Inhaling a cold bitter November wind America buttoned up his jacket, covering his bruised neck. His fingers shook as he struggled to slip the buttons through the loops but eventually his collar snug tightly against his neck.

America turned and stood there for a moment to regain the strength in his legs as well as to let his nerves stop shaking. He held his trembling hands and stood there in the shadow of the wall, waiting for his very being to calm.

Inhaling another breath America heard the tremble of his voice so he inhaled again. It was still there. So again he inhaled, this time it was worse. Touching his lips Alfred brought his gloves away to find they were wet. He then realized he was crying.

"No," America hissed out harshly. "No, no, no . . . no . . ." Turning America looked toward the direction Russia had left. He inhaled a shaking breath and gasped as a sob escaped. He slapped his hand to his mouth and cursed himself for being so weak, for continuously trying only to be rejected.

He knew he'd have to face everyone eventually and it was either now or never. America had stood by the wall for a good twenty minutes before he came out and waved at his men. He didn't say anything and just offered a smile. After relief set in England  
came up to him with his arms crossed.

"You know you gave all of us a scare, right?" England's gaze refused to meet him before he glanced at him shortly and glanced away again. "I'll . . . I'll go put on some tea." With that England turned quickly and left.

America let out the breath he'd been holding. He had been afraid England would fully look at him and notice his state. Sometimes America was glad England was easily flustered. As America turned to head back with his men, following the tanks back to their garages, he was grabbed by the arm and turned abruptly.

His jacket was opened violently and wide surprised, yet suspecting eyes looked at him. America frowned and pulled himself from Germany's hold, wrapping his jacket back around him to hide the bruises.

"What?" America asked and cringed at how horrible his voice sounded. "It's not like you have anything to say."

America glanced shortly at Germany to see a deep concern in his face, especially in his eyes. It was odd to see Germany suddenly care when before he'd been nothing but cold to him on his visit. Again, America was surprised as Germany took a hold of his wrist, the nation had grown quite strong again, and pulled him back to his home.

Inside he pushed America down on a chair before raking through his cabinets. America sat there, wanting only to leave. He was tired. The emotional stress wrought on him by Russia took everything out of him and all America wanted to do was sleep.

But he humored Germany, whatever he wanted to do. When the nation returned to him he noticed that in his hand was a case of ointment. He uncapped it and sat it on the counter next to him before leaning forward slowly, cautiously. America watched as Germany kept a close eye on his motions but America remained still as Germany pulled open his jacket and then gently unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it down his shoulders.

If Germany wanted to give him medical ointment then he could just get it over with, not treat him like some China doll. America didn't like being treated like this because he felt that he just didn't deserve this much attention, not after all that's happened to him.

Digging fingers into the ointment Germany returned, silent as ever, and rubbed it against the bruises. They looked horrible, America could tell by Germany's contorting face. He was glad he couldn't see them. He didn't want to know how close he'd comet to getting his neck snapped in two by Russia.

"Don't tell the others," America ordered Germany who was now rubbing the other side of his neck and then up under his jaw where it hurt the most. America hissed but felt Germany touch him softer. The touch eventually rising up to rub his cheekbone. America gasped at the touch and about jerked back had he not realized Germany was rubbing ointment there too. That was right; Russia had struck him there as well. How'd England not catch that one?

Germany noticed America's discomfort and so was quick to pull his hand away from the younger's cheek. After everything had been taken care of Germany tightened the lid on the case and then got up to return it to its holding place. Again, America hated the silence.

"Don't you dare think anything less of me, Germany," America spoke up. The German turned to him and noticed the gleam in America's blue eyes and the slight trembles of his bottom lip. "I could have fought him if I wanted to . . . I just . . ."

Germany's eyes held nothing but pity for the American nation. He was too young for the status of Superpower and look at him, his life had almost been snuffed by the one he had once so love . . . by the one Germany suspected he might still hold feelings for. Watching America rub those ugly bruises, all Germany wanted to do was wrap his arms around him but America was hurt and he needed space.

"Don't tell a soul. No one," America demanded again as a few tears slipped down his cheeks and onto Germany's hardwood floor. Germany had been silent since the end of the war but still knowing this America persisted he keep quiet.

Germany approached America slowly as the nation leaned over and rubbed his face, taking his glasses off before rubbing his eyes on his sleeve. Again, Germany wanted to touch him, to hold him, to tell him that he needed to distance himself from the Russian nation. That all Russia wanted to do was destroy him, and any hope that America might have of rekindling their dead love is faux and full of lies. Russia and America were no more. Germany could see this, anyone could. Germany also knew there was no way, even if Russia might still care, that their people would ever let them court again. They were enemies and as rightly Germany knew Russia would be.

America had been so young and isolated that he had yet to see the cold heart of Russia's. He was a monster, a murder, a lunatic, and a liar. Germany knew this, but America had been too blind. Now he's gone and hurt himself all over again and Germany couldn't say a thing. Well, he could, but now wasn't the time.

America reached out and took hold of Germany's pant leg, clinging onto it like a sobbing child would. That was all he did. He didn't pull nor did he push away. He just clung and cried and tried his best to suck all of his tears back into himself, and he had failed miserably.

Germany stood there in silence and let his presence comfort America. He knew it wasn't enough, but as of right then it would have to do. America needed a silent friend, not a passionate lover, and whatever America wanted then Germany would give to him if only to make him stop crying and see that smile again. That smile he hadn't seen since before the war. All of these others were fake and the most beautiful he'd ever seen the boy smile was not directed toward him but toward Russia as he left China after the Boxer Rebellion had been staunched. If Germany could see that smile, whether it was directed toward him or someone else then at least he knew America was happy. That was all he wanted.

Being a Superpower ensured America would not smile. Not as long as he had competition and those seeking to destroy him. No, Germany believed in America when he knew the others didn't. He had helped him in his time of need and he took care of him when he didn't have to. It wasn't easy standing up to Russia, Germany knew, he had done it once upon a time. But America did it and he'd have to do it again.

He just wished he'd stop hurting himself. Because when he hurt, so did the others. Germany hurt at the sight of America's tears, he knew for a fact that England would die if he saw him like this. Australia, that kid loved America so much that if he saw him like this he'd be devastated. Canada would throw a fit for America being so careless when around the enemy, but that was America. You either hated or loved him. There was no in-between with him and Germany was glad for that because loving him was the best thing that had ever happened to him and it helped him get out of his depression quicker.

If a man like that simply vanished, so would most of the world's smiles, Germany was sure of it. He knew, in his heart, that America was happiness incarnate and so when he cried so did the world. Right now, it was raining. So fitting.

Moscow, Russia. March 1962

"How are you feeling today, Liz?" Prussia asked as he came in with a vase full of tulips. "I brought your favorite flowers today." He set them down on the windowsill near where the woman sat in a rocking chair, not saying much these days. "So, did you ever finish that book I loaned ya?" Looking down on her lap Prussia noticed the book and sighed. "No? Well, that's fine because the awesome me can wait until you're done reading it."

Unresponsive, as normal. Prussia sighed and sat himself on the edge of her bed. Nothing he said or did seemed to work. She just wasn't the same since . . . since Russia . . .

After sitting in silence for a good two hours Prussia pulled at his hair and jumped to his feet. "Liz, you've gotta pull yourself out of this state. If we're here for the long run then we might as well make the most of it. Living like . . . like zombies won't help time fly by faster."

Nothing, again. It seemed these days as of late Prussia would get into this same argument with her. It was getting tiresome.

"How is she today?" Prussia turned to see Latvia enter timidly. "Ms. Hungary, are you well?" If she wouldn't talk to Prussia then she wouldn't speak to the rest of Russia's subordinates.

"Nein, she's not," Prussia replied. "But I'm sure in the future she'll appreciate the visit."

The little boy offered a smile before he turned to see Lithuania enter. "Oh, I thought I'd find you here, Prussia. Here you go." The older Baltic nation leaned over and handed the German a sheet of paper that was the map to the house. Certain rooms were colored and Prussia rose his brow at it.

"Oh, there are broken lamps. Mr. Russia wants them fixed," Lithuania informed. "One is in his office, please, be careful. He's been in a foul mood lately."

"Right," Prussia sighed. He had thought that Tsar Bomba of his would make the Russian beam with pride but it hadn't. After the historical event he simply locked himself in his room and drank until he passed out. Prussia had felt sorry for Lithuania who had been doomed with waking him, the poor nation returned with a broken wrist to nurse.

"I-If you would like, I can watch her," Latvia offered.

"Thanks, kid," Prussia nodded with approval before getting up and finding his tools.

Now Prussia knew Russian, he wasn't the best at it and enjoyed speaking German more, obviously, but who else there spoke German besides him? Still, he refused to speak it unless absolutely necessary; as in Russia pointing a gun at his head if he didn't answer him with, "da," instead of, "ja." He could understand it perfectly well and so found himself horrified after listening to a quiet conversation of Russia's boss with a few of his cabinet members.

"Even after all of this he's still unpersuaded," Russia's boss had said and Prussia knew they were talking about the country of the land. He did like his gossip but in a place like this, if Russia caught you spreading rumors, even if they were true, oh, he'd make you take a bath in chemical waste. Yep, Prussia, guilty as charged. But he just couldn't keep his ears from listening carefully as Russia's boss continued.

"You heard what happened at the wall?" Russia's boss asked the others. "He hadn't told me at first and I only discovered it through his drunken slurs but Russia had confronted Amerika there."

"Amerika? So soon?"

"Da. He had been disappointed in his lack of presence at the summit and went looking for him. Months later he found him in Berlin," Russia's leader said. "Something went terribly wrong. Russia had apparently made a proposal to Amerika."

"Ba, it's too soon for that! That nation still has too much influence and too many powerful allies."

"I know, I know," Khrushchev agreed. "Let you know I scolded him too. But he told me he had been rejected. He looked pathetic. You should have seen him."

"What does it matter, that nation isn't worth Russia's concern or effort to woo," another cabinet member said.

"He will not take anyone else," Khrushchev said with a sigh. "China, god, don't even get me started with him. Russia's lack of care forced him away."

"Apparently an over amount of care can force one away as well."

"Da, seems so," Khrushchev agreed. "Well, Russia had been lucky the next world war hadn't started over what he did. He said he hurt him physically and to the extent I don't know. But you know Russia."

"Da. Da."

"But his problem is that he won't let go," Khrushchev reasoned. "I had supported him in conquering and taking him, but now after this much trouble I would rather he move his affections to someone else. It's a burden; Russia honestly doesn't know what to feel."

"So I have heard throughout history."

"He won't listen to me though," Russia's boss said, shaking his head. "He still wants Amerika. Says that he won't let anyone else have him because he was promised to him. But then he was upset over the rejection, so I told him the next time he sees him to rape him. Simple as that, a lay would get Russia's mind off of him."

Prussia dropped his screwdriver at that. When the humans looked at him they frowned.

"Did you break anything?" Khrushchev asked, demanding to know as his eyes narrowed at the German state.

Despite Prussia knowing now that Russia had the old man on a string—to an extent—he, however, was very determined to insert his dominance on the subordinate nations.

"Nie—I mean, nyet. Just lost my grip, sorry."

"Hurry up, you damn German!"

"Yes sir." Prussia was quick to finish his work and move on to the other rooms. When he stood just outside Russia's office he froze. He knew Russia and America had been butting heads for a good thirty years now and Prussia was proud that America was doing a damn good job at keeping up with Russia, but now . . . he knew that if a real official war broke out then Russia might kill America. Prussia believed in the boy and his ideals but he didn't think he'd last long against Russia's might, especially not after Tsar Bomba.

But now, after hearing Russia, himself, has no intention of destroying America like previously thought Prussia became unsettled. It wasn't like he had any say in the matter but after seeing what Russia did to Hungary . . . He knew America would fair far worse if that insane nation's affections were placed on him.

So Prussia walked on eggshells when he walked into the office. To his surprise Russia was at his desk, filling out paperwork. He didn't say anything to Prussia. He simply pointed him to the broken wall light and Prussia went to work.

It was too quiet in there. Prussia could hear the clock hands ticking like it was his own heartbeat. Every now and then he'd hear Russia sift through file papers or adjust himself in his seat. He couldn't concentrate and ended up cutting the wrong wire. With a sigh, Prussia pulled out a new one from his pack.

He kept thinking about little America's smiling face and how he'd never smile again if Russia was allowed to have his way with him. There had been one time he thought he'd never see the kid smile again. It was his war for independence. Prussia remembered that face and was so relieved that the bitterness faded from his young features and he learned to smile again.

Glancing over toward Russia, Prussia found he hadn't moved. He was signing a few documents now but other than that he hadn't changed. Just who did he think he was anyways? America had done nothing to him and yet Russia wants this of him? Isn't he satisfied enough with everyone he has now? America was protecting the West and if he fell then Germany . . . Prussia shook his head. After knowing what Russia could very well do to the New World country in the possible near feature, Prussia didn't want to think what would happen to Germany if he fell under Russia's power as well.

The images of the world—of Russia's world danced in Prussia's head; one where Russia's house overflowed with mourning nations, each in their own chains. Germany . . . Prussia had envisioned him mostly in the dungeons because of Russia's hate for him . . . starving . . . naked . . . tortured. And then there was America. The boy nation who had tried his hardest to stop Russia's world domination was broken, his attractive freedom striped, tears running down his face in suicide sadness as he was dragged off to Russia's room where . . . no . . . America couldn't be in a world like that. He just wasn't born for submission and Russia couldn't see that.

"You can't do it!"

Had Prussia said that? Russia was now looking at him with slight surprise but it quickly shifted into annoyance and when Russia was annoyed then Prussia and the rest of the household were tortured. Prussia gulped and opened his mouth to let out an apology and say he was just talking to himself but something was directing his words and before he knew it he was clenching his screwdriver tight and yelling in demand at Russia . . . at _Russia_.

"Not Alfred. You can't take him!"

Russia rose his brow in understanding. Leaning back in his chair he let off an amused aura and smiled lightly. "Are you trying to order me around, Prussia? How stupid of you." Taking out a bottle of vodka Russia politely poured himself a glass instead of taking the bottle straight to his lips. When the vodka came out . . .

"You have us—you have the East. Leave the West alone!" Prussia begged.

"Ah, you must have caught conversation with my leaders. How sneaky of you." Russia chuckled before taking the shot of alcohol and then pouring himself another. After his third drink Russia frowned. "I am a very powerful nation now. What else am I to do with all this power if not aim for the entire planet?" Russia scanned the albino for a moment before saying, "If you're concerned for you weak defenseless baby brother then you shouldn't fear. I have no interest in him and will leave him at peace when he comes to live here so long as he doesn't fight back. But dear Amerika? Why his well-being should not concern you. He's not your family."

"He was practically adopted in the nineteenth century," Prussia explained. "He's as much German as me or Germany."

"That's too bad," Russia said with a sneer as his eyes turned to his shot glass. He took it up and twirled it in his fingers before tossing it aside and pressing the bottle to his lips. "Such an ugly race, but don't worry, your bad blood hadn't made Amerika any less beautiful."

"You're sick, you know that!" Prussia knew he was asking for a beating but he couldn't care at the moment. He needed to he heard and he needed Russia to understand where Germany didn't. "None of you understand that Alfred will die if he's not free."

Russia's frown deepened. "Are you calling me incapable of caring for him?"

"No," Prussia said firmly and with conviction. "I'm saying you will kill him if you defeat him."

Russia stood up from his chair and walked around his desk. He stopped before Prussia and leaned over him menacingly.

"I am getting upset with others telling me what I can or cannot do with my promised one," Russia growled darkly, narrowing his frightening eyes. "He is mine. All my years of waiting for him would be in vain if I, myself, killed him. You don't know me too well. I am capable of loving Alfred and when he comes to live here you will see."

"He won't submit," Prussia pressed when he knew he shouldn't. He wasn't a power anymore and to bump chests with Russia was a death sentence.

"Then I will make him."

Prussia cringed. Rape . . . just like Germany had tried.

"You can't make him do anything," Prussia bade. "England had tried."

Russia chuckled with a nod. Crossing his arms he stepped back to lean against his desk. "That fool didn't try harder."

"He did," Prussia said slowly but Russia refused to accept his words.

"Eight years is too soon to give up," Russia said, recalling the American Revolution.

"He raped him!" Prussia spat. He watched Russia's eyes widen a fraction and his lips part just slightly. He was surprised, as he should be. America never told anyone, England never told anyone. Prussia suspected France knew but even Canada, as close as he was to America, didn't know. Prussia, himself, wouldn't have known unless he had been with America when his emotions became too much.

Prussia still remembered those bitter tears and the hate in America's voice as he sat in a tent with Prussia congratulating America on his first victory against England since Prussia's vigorous training.

_"Hey, ease up, Alfred, you won! Why don't you go celebrate with the men?" Prussia asked, observing the young boy who was cleaning his musket and then proceeding to fill his powder sacks._

_"That was just one battle. The war's not over yet, there will be more," America said as he held up his musket and examined it after the finished polish._

_"Sheesh, I didn't think my training would turn you into a battle-hardened warrior over-night," Prussia joked, but his laughter died down as he watched America continue._

_"Are the official uniforms on the way?" Alfred asked._

_"Yeah . . ." Prussia said before standing up and placing his hand on America's shoulder. "Look, what's the rush? You're doing good so far."_

_There was a silence before America pushed Prussia's hand from his shoulder. "My father . . . England . . . he used to always be there for me. Sure, not in person at times, but I knew he was out there trying to make the world a safer place for me to live in—at least that's what he always told me. He always held my hand when I wanted him to, listened to my troubles, and held me close when I was frightened. Never once had he said anything bad to me . . ."_

_Prussia watched America glance down. His shoulders slumped. "He . . . struck me the first time in 1770. After that . . . it all went downhill."_

_"Believe me when I say rumors spread rapidly in Europe," Prussia added on a lighter note. "We all heard about England's trouble with his precious little colony. It was funny because of how upset he was with you. It was unheard of; a colony breaking away from their parent nation. I knew England was a greedy bastard but was it really the taxes that drove you over the edge? I mean, come on, you've got vast resources all around you and your trade is very desirable around the other countries."_

_Prussia quieted, waiting for a response, but America was ever silent. Looking down he noticed America's knuckles turning white by how hard he was gripping his gun. Soon Prussia gasped, seeing the barrel give way under the boy's unnatural strength._

_"Ah, Alfred?" Prussia tried to warn him about the condition of the gun but was silenced by the boy shaking his head._

_"He stopped being my father in 1775!" _

_America grit his teeth before the barrel of the musket snapped. America still hadn't noticed the damage though and Prussia gapped at the sight of tears building up in America's eyes as his face began turning red with bitter anger. Prussia had never seen a nation so young look like this and he became disturbed by the sight._

_"No father does that to their own child! None!"_

_"What did he—?" Prussia watched as America bent his neck, bowing his head as his brows crashed together to show his distress. The emotions were getting out of control and Prussia found himself witnessing America's unstable side._

_"I can take him leaving me . . . I can take his stupid taxes . . . I can steel myself against his strikes, but I can't . . . what he did to me . . ."_

_Prussia's body reacted fast as he jumped to America's side when the sob broke out of the boy's throat. America covered his mouth after the tears began falling, after which more sobs resounded. Looking up at Prussia the older nation watched the colony open his eyes at him and what he saw in America's blue, blue eyes was horror._

_"He killed them!" America cried out, dropping his gun and clinging to Prussia's coat desperately. The albino could hear seams ripping but he wasn't the least bit concerned for the fabric as much as for America's mental well-being._

_"He took me right there . . . on the green . . . among the dead!" America cried out in a multitude of emotions: rage, hurt, betrayal, sadness. "He said it was the last resort to put me back under his control!"_

Mein Gott! _Prussia inwardly gasped as America's chopped sentences clarified. _England raped his own son!

_Without another word Prussia wrapped his arms around America and held him close. He let those tears wet his uniform, he let America wrap his own arms around him and cling so tightly he could feel his spine bending. Prussia had a little brother so he knew a thing or two about comforting the little ones, but what surprised him the most was America's capability to strike back even after something so demeaning and decimating should have rendered him immobile. No nation has strength to fight against a nation that raped them . . . unless . . ._

_"Hey, hey, it's alright. Calm down. It won't happen again, you hear?" Prussia took America's face in his hands and began wiping away those tears. "You're something special, America. Not many nations can carry on after . . . that . . . but you did. You're strong and the world's going to see it soon. Good! Show then your strength; beat them to a bloody pulp if you have to so that they never ever think of doing that to you again." Prussia insisted the blond in nodding his head. "Your big brother Gilbert will stand beside you and be a friend amongst the wolves for a long time. You can count on it!"_

_When Prussia let go of the boy's face America sniffled and then learnt his head down on Prussia's chest. "Please, don't tell anyone."_

_"I won't, you have my promise," Prussia said, rubbing the boy's back to ease his hiccups._

_"Thank-you," America muttered and it was sweet. The young colony's defenses were down and he leaned on Prussia like he would a close friend. A close friend? Yeah, Prussia liked the idea of that, but first he needed to speak to his king about setting up some guards for the scarred boy._

Prussia had been pulled from the past and he blinked, recalling he was standing up to Russia. _Alfred, I'm sorry. I told him, but what else would you have had me do right now? They have to understand what you are. _Prussia had almost told Germany but it had been too late.

"He's like Carthage," Prussia informed slowly. "He would not yield under Rome so he was killed. You know these nations cannot be ruled. They are either killed right quickly or fade away in captivity; they die. They retaliate to conquest violently . . . just like he had on England . . . just like he had on Germany." Prussia bit his tongue. He should not have said that. But he felt he needed to rekindle Russia's memory of the boy's brute force in retaliation after a rape or from an attempted one.

"Germany?" Russia's narrowed eyes grew dark and before Prussia knew it he was grabbed by the collar of his shirt and suspended in the air. "What did your brother do to him? !" A violent shake tore out a gasp from Prussia and he choked on his words. Russia waited to hear and offered him no ground to stand on.

"Nothing, I swear it!" Prussia choked out. "I tried to stop him . . . to get him to listen . . . just like you, but . . . but America snapped . . . he's the one who broke—who broke Ludwig's jaw!"

"When did this occur?" Another harsh shake and Prussia was struggling to breathe.

"De-December of 1944!" Prussia answered and just like that he was dropped. As Prussia lay there coughing he hadn't noticed Russia's revealing face.

The Russian finally understood everything.

_Back in 1781 . . . when I touched . . . he struck me away. And then there was fear on his face when England visited. That bastard! He was mine first. Disgusting, filthy, witch! He will pay for that! _Russia didn't care if it had been centuries since the horrible crime, England would pay for taking America's virginity. That had belonged to Russia as promised by General Winter. Looking down at the sniveling German made Russia think of Germany, especially after what Prussia had said he attempted to do to Russia's betrothed.

Shifting through the memories of the war and the few times he had seen the young nation. Suddenly he remembered about Germany's desperate attack and the tremendous losses America had sustained. He had thought that the boy was merely traumatized. It had been the first time he was so involved in a major conflict so it seemed reasonable. But after remembering listening to his and England's conversation, Russia realized England had been referring to the attempted rape. How long had England known and not Russia? How does that Brit try to coax a comfort in the boy when he had scarred him as well?

Russia felt his blood boil and his fists clenched so tightly that the leather fabric of his gloves began emitting a soft crunching sound. Looking down at Prussia who had just caught his breath he knew the albino was right. He knew that nations like America could not sustain life without freedom or rule. America would fight his inevitable capture, Russia knew it, and possibly die from the capture.

"Get out," Russia commanded as he sat himself back down at his desk with a grim expression washing over his features.

"Promise me you'll leave him alone," Prussia begged.

Russia narrowed his eyes at his subordinate. "You would rather I substitute your brother in Amerika's place?" Russia had no intention of doing such a thing, but he enjoyed the sight of Prussia's face paling more than regular. "I will make no such promises. Now get out of my sight!"

Prussia held his tongue like a good boy and left. The damn light hadn't even been fixed. Russia sighed out in frustration before swinging his arms across his desk's surface and knocking everything to the ground.

How had Russia not known about America's predisposition? Even at a young age he revealed it. He was destined for either death or power. Unlike Russia and many other countries they had survived in captivity. Some thrived but even when they did not they still prided themselves in surviving. Russia had been through so much and had made it to the top. He knew if he failed he could rise back again. That was how he was as a nation.

So now the major question: did Russia risk conquering America and enslaving him to see if his life slipped from him in captivity, or kill him and put him as well as himself out of misery?

Perhaps Prussia was mistaken. Perhaps America could suffer and survive. Other nations had, why not him?

Russia chuckled like a madman. He should have known. After all, General Winter never told him if his promised one would have the strength and attitude to resist him, and he most certainly did.

Russia hated to be fucked with and the old ghost would pay for causing this rift between he and his beloved, in due time of course, after Russia figured out a way to keep America from dying. Because he would if Russia conquered the world as he swore to his boss and his people. But Russia had no plans of scrapping that goal at all.

* * *

**DOTR:**** Whooo, that was longer than I anticipated. Oh well, that will likely by the last chapter for a while as I try to finish the rest of them. Hope you guys enjoyed.**

**History Time!**

**In 1956 the Hungarians revolted against the Soviet dominated government, but were sadly crushed.**

**In 1957,** **November 7: The final report from a special committee called by President Dwight D. Eisenhower to review the nation's defense readiness indicates that the United States is falling far behind the Soviets in missile capabilities, and urges a vigorous campaign to build fallout shelters to protect American citizens. And eight days later on November 15 the Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev claims that the Soviet Union has missile superiority over the United States and challenges America to a missile "shooting match" to prove his assertion.**

**Also, America's still reeling from McCarthyism, so his personality is quite chaotic due to his paranoia. **

**In June, 1960 we have the** **Sino-Soviet split: The Chinese leadership, angered at being treated as the "junior partner" to the Soviet Union, declares its version of Communism superior and begin to compete with the Soviets for influence, thus adding a third dimension to the Cold War. RoChu no more. China is kicking up there, as I stated before, so his attitude's changing slightly as well with the more powerful he gets, hence why he wasn't afraid to insult Russia or America.**

**In 1961 May 25th, John F. Kennedy announces the US intention to put a man on the moon - kickstarting the Apollo program. Getting close to the moon landing, yays for the space race, which America was failing miserably at XD**

**And now it has come, August 13 1961 The Berlin Wall is built by the Soviets following the breakdown in talks to decide the future of Germany. splitting siblings by a wall, so sad :(**

**Germany had an economic boom in the 1950's partly from the Marshal Plan but a majority of their success comes from their _Wirtschaftswunder_ that was overseen by German Chancellor Konrad Adenauer and his Minister of Economics, Ludwig Erhard, who went down in history as the "father of the German economic miracle."**

**And now the goods, we have the Stand-off between Soviet and U.S. tanks in October 1961. The issue took place at "Checkpoint Charlie" the title given to the transition of East Berlin and West Berlin. Soon after the construction of the Berlin Wall, a standoff occurred between U.S. and Soviet tanks on either side of Checkpoint Charlie. It began on 22 October as a dispute over whether East German guards were authorized to examine the travel documents of a U.S. diplomat named Allan Lightner passing through to East Berlin to see the opera. By October 27, 10 Soviet and an equal number of American tanks stood 100 metres apart on either side of the checkpoint. The standoff ended peacefully on October 28 following a U.S.-Soviet understanding to withdraw tanks. Wow, I'll bet that was concerning, but then again there are countless times the US and USSR had almost gotten into a nuclear war . . . so many times.**

**Also, I'd been dying to write Russia's attempt at seducing America to Communism and the Checkpoint Charlie crisis happened to be the best event to place it in. Ah, the relief when I finally type it out :3**

**Then, again in 1961 (eventful year, huh!) on October 31st the Soviet Union detonates the Tsar Bomba, the most powerful thermonuclear weapon ever tested, with an explosive yield of some 50 megatons. So Russia wins with biggest bomb ;)**

**And, oh, bet ya didn't expect a flashback in here. Well, surprise. When America mentioned being hit for the first time by England in 1770 he was referring to the Boston Massacre. Then, when America mentions his _rape_ he was referring to the fateful April 19th morning in Lexington, Massachusetts 1775, where the Revolutionary War began, all due to America's retaliation which took England by surprise and revealed what kind of a country he'd mature to become.**

**DOTR:**** Aaaahhh, there might be more Cold War chapters than I anticipated. As you can see I haven't even gotten into the 1960's yet D: Well, the more fun to type up then. See you guys later. Enjoy this long chap to chew on for the upcoming wait! Mmwha!**


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